


upon heart strings

by cinnamuntoast (fernic)



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Music AU, inspired by comic(s) and art by hyperhs on tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:41:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 43,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136717
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fernic/pseuds/cinnamuntoast
Summary: His school doesn’t have an orchestra, but that’s only half the problem.The other half is that Hinata doesn’t know how to play the violin. The other half of that half is that he doesn’t have anyone to teach him. The other half of that half is that his mom can’t afford to pay for a teacher.Hinata realizes that realistically, he can’t have more than two halves to his problem, but he reasons with the fact that his big problem is so big that it’s necessary. His big problem is this: he qualifies for the Miyagi Orchestra in three years, the summer he turns sixteen.That’s three years to master the violin, to go up against people who have been playing since they could stand, and Hinata doesn’t even know where to begin.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by [this.](http://hyperhs.tumblr.com/post/147583243822/too-lazy-to-finish-this-farther-kageyama-needs)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama spends the night emotionless, listening to music too beautiful to imagine, and longing to be up there.
> 
> He leaves wishing that he could look forward to being up on a stage like that, to playing with people like that, but he knows it is impossible. Because like every person has said, he is a king and a lonely one at that. He is destined to be great and he is destined to forever play alone, with no one by his side and no one to accompany him.
> 
> He knows that now, he only wishes it was easier to accept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> title inspired by my lovely friend Bit, who- after I realized there was a fic with the _same exact title_ as the one I had in mind- suggested "Heart strings", because (and I quote) "get it? because Hinata plays the violin, which has strings HAHAHAHA" I love you bit, you little demon you
> 
> (there will be slow updates because my life just doesn't go right, at times, and sometimes i need a break. thank you.)
> 
> ALSO: music will occasionally be linked! it is almost always the exact music i picture hinata or kageyama or both of them playing! most of the music will be classical (or from ghibli films...), and if you ever have any ideas of songs, or just wanna hit me up with any idea on tumblr, my sideblog is [here](http://cinnamuntoast.tumblr.com). thank you!

If you asked Kageyama Tobio how he started the piano, he wouldn't have an answer. Not because the answer is too hard to explain, nor did the event itself take place too long ago (he can recall the way his mother would hold him on her lap, thin wrists and bony fingers dancing across the keys while his own chubby toddler hands tried to join), and it is not because the question requires too much time and effort to pinpoint the exact reason that made him step up to the bench and press his fingers down on the keys. No, none of that.

The question doesn't have an answer because it isn't the right question. It was never an interest, it was something that just had to be done. Playing the piano is more of something Kageyama _needs_ , the way he needs to breathe air, and drink water, and go to school (much to his demise). Just like everything else important, Kageyama needs to sit on the bench, playing the same few measures to perfect it for hours until his dad comes barging in and screams at him to eat.

Because when Kageyama was little, looking down into his mother's open casket, he could feel the music. He has been feeling it ever since he was born, he thinks (maybe before that, when his father tells him she would push the bench as close as she could, stomach heavy and pregnant and brushing against the edge of the piano, all so she could play), and it just took his mother's death for him to finally hear it, the ache of the emptiness of the house once filled with Bach and Mozart and different waltzes that Kageyama used to try to dance to.

He doesn't remember the rest of that day, only that according to his nanny- who has been caring for him ever since his mother fell ill- he went straight to the piano, yanked off the velvet covering, and tried to play.

The right question is only a sliver of the story, and the answer is almost all of it, and though the story might not be a good one to some people, it is still the only thing he has. 

So the question is this: how did he start playing? He didn't. He just continued where his mother left off, and to him, that's sufficient enough.

\---

Kageyama plays in a secluded room.

The piano used to be in the living area, the center of the house and easily accessible when guests were over, so his mother could easily make her way down to the grand piano when she wanted to play, and in her later life, could easily wheel her way over there and push the bench aside.

Kageyama still dreams about the times when the piano was in the living room, sometimes, where he swears he can hear his mother playing, and he reaches up, up, up (since when was everything so tall?) and finally presses the finishing key, only to be awoken by the loud blaring of his alarm right in his ear.

The dreams fade away, though, and deep down, he's grateful.

Now, the piano is in the nursery. It isn't a nursery anymore; the crib and rocking chair have been moved into the attic, and instead, right in the center of the room, the grand piano stands. The nursery isn't huge, but it isn't small either, just a room that fits a desk filled with music compositions, as well as notebooks and journals with scribbled measures of music written on the pages. Some are Kageyama’s, full of his quick scrawl that's barely comprehensible even to him, and some are his mother’s, whose handwriting almost makes it look like the music was printed professionally.

The nursery is full of light, with two huge glass windows right to the side of the piano overlooking the street and front flower beds that aren't blooming anymore. The two doors that lead into the room are glass, too, which Kageyama despises because sometimes he loses himself so much in the music, so much that he can practically feel it, that he doesn't hear the way his father walks up to the doors and watches through the glass, expression unchanging.

He’ll turn around and he’ll try to hide how he jumps a little, but it's always the same thing, his father just wants to listen, and Kageyama knows he shouldn't mind, but he does, and so he stops playing.

Deep down, he thinks he wants his father to say something, tell him to continue, tell him that he sounds perfect, tell him _anything_ , but all he does is stare and walk away, and it makes something in Kageyama loosen, like everything that fills him- his blood and organs and _life_ \- all disappears and he is left feeling so empty, so utterly horrible, that he gets up and doesn't go back to the piano until he knows no one will listen.

This is one of those nights.

It is two in the morning, and Kageyama is getting out of bed, gently pushing aside textbooks that lay next to him on his covers, and gathering his blanket in his arms. The floors creak a little as he walks down the stairs, but the house is old, and Kageyama has lived here his whole life, so he knows where to step to avoid the obnoxiously loud groans in the floorboards. Here is when he is finally awake; when he can hear his father snoring from the bedroom across the hall, and no cars shine their light through the windows as they pass through on the street.

He’s finally alone, and it's like a huge weight lifts off his chest.

In the nursery, there is no light. The moon is only a sliver, and even that is blocked by trees and roofs of other houses, so everything is pitch black when he opens the door. The blanket in his hands is heavy and scratchy, and carefully, Kageyama folds the blanket so it wraps around the walls of the inside of the piano and then closes the lid. Then, he softly presses down on a key and listens.

The sound is quiet enough, the blanket absorbing most of the noise, and Kageyama shuts the lid before moving to sit down on the bench.

Softly, his fingers barely pressing down on the keys, he starts to play.

It starts with a single [sequence](https://soundcloud.com/neet/just-for-you?in=user-225515429).

The music itself is undefined, happy yet sad, _longing_ , and everything that Kageyama hates, but it’s beautiful, and his father says his mother loved to play it, so Kageyama continues.

It’s more impulse based than strict notes, and usually, Kageyama strays away from long pieces like these, but this one’s different. It sounds easy, but its complex, each chord timed perfectly with the melody so it’s like something following it, stalking it from behind like it’s going to take over.

Things disappear, like everything often does when he plays the piano, and soon, all he can feel is the despair of each note, and he swears he isn’t even breathing air, just leaning forward and with every movement of his hands, his fingers spanning over the keys, he leans in, until he is pressing his forehead to the edge of the piano, still playing, and he might be crying, which is stupid, beyond dumb. Kageyama doesn’t know why playing makes him upset, or why it also makes him feel better, but he thinks that’s just what music is, something that tears you up on the inside and forces you to continue- like each note he plays is a piece of something that makes him up, makes him live, makes him himself. It cleanses, takes what you want and makes it into something physical, something that can be heard, and it remains, captured in a time and space, and even though not everyone will listen, it will still play.

Kageyama stops playing and wipes at his eyes, which aren’t wet anymore. All he can hear is his own breathing, and the last chord that suspends itself in the air, only disappearing when Kageyama exhales a long breath.

He gathers up the blanket, shuts the lid to the piano again, and finally, he sleeps.

\---

Kageyama is playing when his nanny, Nao, walks in.

He doesn’t notice her at first, doesn’t even hear the creak of the door over his playing, and when he finally does notice she’s there, it’s when he can feel hands on his shoulders, gently squeezing. He gasps and misses a note before he stops playing. A weird chord hangs in the air, and he can feel her sigh, breath hitting his neck.

“You didn’t have to stop,” she says, and Kageyama pulls his hands away from the keys.

“You scared me,” he grumbles, and Nao smiles. He scoots over on the bench, leaving enough room for her to sit. She does, close enough that he shoulder brushes his, and even though she is years older than Kageyama, he is still taller than her. She reaches out and plays a few notes, playing a song that Kageyama recognizes, soft and sweet. From this angle, he can see the small wrinkles over his face, the way her eyes crinkle at the edges from years of smiling. Her hands, though, are still young, smooth and delicate, pale and soft when she stops playing and puts one hand on Kageyama’s cheek.

(A thought comes to his head, and he wants it gone, but it stays there, repeating and reminding him that this is how his mother would look if she were still alive.)

“Tobio, why don’t you play for me anymore?” She asks, and Kageyama doesn’t even blink. She smiles and turns back to the keys. “How about a duet? Your mother and I would play that really simple one called Heart and Soul. Do you know it?”

Kageyama knows. He’s pretty sure any kid that has ever even thought of learning piano knows that song, but still, he shakes his head.

“No, I don’t,” he says, and she smiles. 

“I’ll teach you the part your mother played. Watch,” she says, and she does. She teaches Kageyama a song that he already knows, and when they play, she smiles and Kageyama does too, but he does so into his sleeve as he fakes a cough so she doesn’t notice it.

“You should find someone to play with, Tobio,” she says once they’re done. Kageyama doesn’t say anything, and she continues. “I know it’s hard, especially after what happened, but look, your piano is all fixed, and you play wonderfully.”

“I don’t like playing with anyone,” Kageyama grunts, and Nao sighs.

“Tobio-”

“No,” Kageyama hisses, and she grows silent. He looks down at the keys and the piano he has spent his life on, the one his mother used, the keys where the paint is chipped away, and the ones that are brand new, replaced from last summer.

Last summer, where everything went wrong.

He hates thinking about it, and so he focuses on the hand that soothes through his hair, brushing it away from his face.

“It’s okay,” Nao soothes, and Kageyama wills himself to believe her. “I’m happy you’re playing again, Tobio.” 

He nods, and she pulls something out of her pocket. It’s a business card for the music shop in town.

“If you ever want to play outside the house,” She says, and she places the card in Kageyama's hand. “The owner is a friend of mine, and he agreed that you can use the piano in the back at night if you want. You might have to clean up a bit, though.” 

Then, she gets up from the bench and leans down, kissing Kageyama’s forehead. He looks down at the card and stuffs it into his pocket before shutting the lid of the piano.

He’s done playing for today.

\---

Kageyama doesn’t like thinking about what happened.

It makes him feel cold inside like someone is pushing ice into his chest, making his heart heavy and drop down to his stomach. He hates hearing the screaming, the way his hands dug into the piano, chords smashing and the sound of the strings creaking with each tug until he finally grabbed them loose, splinters in his hands from the way his fingers pushed between the cracks in the keys.

He doesn’t like to rethink the look on his father's face, the way he saw him cry for the first time, the way his anger left him gasping for air with the feeling like he was dying, like his heart was being squeezed so tightly it would explode. 

Kageyama just tries to block those things out.

Now, he sits next to his father on a train. They’re going to Tokyo to see an orchestra play. It’s something Kageyama knows he would have appreciated much more when he was smaller and younger. Still, he tries to be excited, if only for his father’s sake.

“This was our first date, you know,” Kageyama’s father says, and Kageyama looks over.

“I thought you said you took her out to mini-golf, and then slipped in the mud while swinging the first time.”

“Yeah, that was our _official_ first date,” his father laughs. He pats Kageyama’s knee with a solid grip. “But this is where I met her. She was on stage, and I was backstage, helping to open and close the curtain. The moment she walked past, Tobio, I smelled her perfume. It was like cinnamon, and it made me feel better, and it was like I had the strength to continue pulling and pulling the rope for the curtain,” he says, and Kageyama looks out the window. The buildings are getting taller, reaching up towards the sky. Below the track of the train, Kageyama can see all the city traffic.

“And after that?” He asks after a moment when his father doesn't speak.

“After that,” his father answers softly, “I fell in love.”

The city is bright and filled with noise. It's not pretty, but it fills a silence that Kageyama hates to hear, so he welcomes it. Once leaving the train, there are people constantly bumping into him, and when his father puts his hand on his shoulder to steady him and keep him close, he doesn't shrug it off. He lets himself be guided, looking up into the sky that's almost gray, full of smog and buildings that tower over him. He pulls his scarf up so it covers his nose and mouth. There’s the wind, and it pushes through his coat like it’s nothing, making his entire body numb and causes his hair to hang in front of his eyes. Kageyama doesn’t mind, because his father is leading him to where they need to go anyways.

They don’t stop until they get to the theater. It’s huge, take up almost an entire city block, and there is already a line starting to form for the tickets. Luckily, Kageyama knows his father has been planning this for a very long time, and given his past employment of working backstage, a young woman leads them to the back, the entrance that only performers are allowed to use.

Instantly, Kageyama is hit with a gust of warm air. He reaches up and pulls down his scarf, letting himself breathe in the warm air, and he looks at all the people who are tuning their instruments and chatting. They smile when he walks past, and Kageyama finds it hard to smile back, so he just waves and hunches up his shoulders to his face more.

When they finally do make it to their seats, Kageyama already wants to go home. They’re in a balcony seat, a private one, and he knows his father must have paid a fortune, but he doesn’t want to be here. He can’t ignore the way his father’s hands are shaking a little, and he can’t ignore the rising lump in his throat when the entire theater goes silent as the orchestra begins to play. But he still tries, and he spends the night emotionless, listening to music too beautiful to imagine, and longing to be up there. 

He leaves wishing that he could look forward to being up on a stage like that, to playing with people like that, but he knows it is impossible. Because like every person has said, he is a king and a lonely one at that. He is destined to be great and he is destined to forever play alone, with no one by his side and no one to accompany him.

He knows that now, he only wishes it was easier to accept.

\---

The piano is old and out of tune, but Kageyama still plays it in the dark of the night. He can hear the sound without having to stuff a blanket in the insides of the lid, and there are no windows in the door, no way anyone can watch him without him knowing.

He is completely alone, and for once, it doesn't feel that bad.

The only bad thing about the shop is the lack of air conditioning, but with summer closing to an end, he knows he won't have to deal with that problem much longer. Besides, the nights are cooler.

At midnight, when the air is cool and the shopkeeper has been gone for half an hour, Kageyama will put the polish and mop away and head into the back room, where he is able to play alone. It's amazing, and tonight he already knows what he is going to play. New piano composition books just came in, one full of different waltzes, and his fingers are aching to play something new. As he walks down the small hallway to the back room, already skimming the pages of the music book, he notices how it isn’t just for piano, how there are breaks for just chords. Another instrument is probably meant to play with him, but he knows he can fill those chord breaks with improved notes, so it isn’t that big of a deal.

The back room is cool when he enters, and he quickly opens the music book and places it on the music stand of the piano. For a piano piece, it’s relatively easy, just going up and down scales and notes. The music sounds like trickling water, and though he hates to admit it, he knows it would sound better with an entire orchestra, or even another person to play with.

The thing about music is that sometimes, it needs to be shared. The thing with Kageyama is that he doesn't have anyone to share it with.

And then there's a note, high and low, a chord that doesn't come from his own hands and his shoulders hunch up, hands freezing and pressing down on a chord that sounds wrong and makes him cringe. He turns around fast, and there he is, a boy with red hair and eyes practically glowing in the dark, staring back at Kageyama looking bewildered. Which is weird, because if anything, Kageyama should be the one looking scared. The boy drops something from where it rests on his shoulder. Kageyama can barely make out the shape of a violin.

Words fail to escape him right away, heart racing because for a moment, hearing the violin play, it felt nice, warming something in his chest.

But then he remembers that this kid is a stranger, someone who snuck up on him and decided to play with him for whatever reason, and Kageyama feels the words stuck in his throats finally unlodge.

“Who are you?”

\---

Hinata used to sing himself to sleep.

Well, not really sing, but hum. And of course, none of the humming was particularly good, or represented any real song, but in the video that his mom shows all his friends (much to his demise) of a small baby with flaming red hair humming broken notes and weird melodies that don't really sound like anything special, it still counts as singing to him. 

Music is something Hinata is in love with. He tried to learn guitar when he was seven but stopped after a string broke and cut into his hand. Then he moved to the trumpet in fourth grade but quit after a month because he couldn't even finish playing a scale without his cheeks puffing out and his face getting all red. Once, he even fainted while practicing at home, and that was pretty much the end of his band career.

Music is something Hinata breathes, despite his many failures to create it. He is constantly listening to it, arranging his knotted hair over his ears to hide his earphones, all so he can listen to something during class. Even though he can't play anything, can't make what he loves, he pretends it doesn't hurt him.

And then he enters junior high, biking home with headphones in his ears, classical music flowing through his head and he stops, because there it is, right in front of him: a violin, and a boy playing it, all on the television screen in the window of a live stream of the Miyagi Orchestra performance, and Hinata _knows_.

\---

His school doesn’t have an orchestra, but that’s only half the problem.

The other half is that Hinata doesn’t know how to play the violin. The other half of that half is that he doesn’t have anyone to teach him. The other half of that half is that his mom can’t afford to pay for a teacher.

Hinata realizes that realistically, he can’t have more than two halves to his problem, but he reasons with the fact that his main problem is so big, that it’s necessary. His big problem is this: he qualifies for the Miyagi Orchestra in three years, the summer he turns sixteen.

That’s three years to master the violin, to go up against people who have been playing since they could stand, and Hinata doesn’t even know where to begin.

So he starts with his classmates. It isn’t long until he asks a shy girl who always has headphones in if she knows where he can get a cheap violin, and a week later she meets him earlier before class, a worn out case in her hands. He doesn’t know how else to repay her, so he promises to play for her when he gets really good and return it when he can buy a better one, and that seems to be good enough for her, so she hands him her uncle's old violin.

Just like that, one of the many halves of his big problem is gone.

He can’t find a teacher for free due to the fact that the only instruments that his school provides lessons for are the brass and woodwind instruments, no string ones. Luckily, the internet exists, and Hinata spends his nights abandoning half-finished homework in favor of learning scales and practice exercises from several different tutorials, and it takes two weeks of practicing for hours every day until he can play a scale without having the strings squeak.

He celebrates by bringing the violin to school and performing for the girl. She claps, and digs out a practice book from her bag, throwing it at him. She doesn’t really say anything, just bows and walks away, and leaves Hinata standing in the empty classroom, holding a book full of lines and circles and weird symbols above what he thinks must be music.

And that’s where the true problem begins, because no matter how many note charts he tries to memorize, no matter how many nights he stays up scorching the internet for videos on which notes are which positions, nothing makes sense. He can't look at the notes and know, and he knows that reading music takes time to learn, but he doesn't have time. Each composition in the book is a foreign language he can’t read, and he’s so bad that he can say with confidence that he is ten times better at putting together an English sentence than knowing what one single note is.

It takes a week for him to find his solution.

He’s with Natsu, trying to finish a history project early so he can start playing when she starts humming along with a song, a pop one that Hinata knows he will have stuck in his head for weeks. And then it hits him.

With a jump, Hinata is picking up Natsu and smacking a kiss on her cheek before running to his room. He picks up the violin, opens up his computer, and finds a video of a boy playing song that seems easy enough. He listens over and over, pausing sometimes to figure out which notes are which, and eventually, after an hour of listening to the same ten seconds of the beginning over and over, Hinata can play it.

And that is how he learns.

Where others study music and practice the same measures over and over again for hours, Hinata listens to the same few seconds, finding the notes and sounds by using his ear, until after a day or two, he knows the song well enough the figure it out by himself. Sure, it takes longer, but it’s only a few weeks later until he can listen to a song the first time through and already know what positions he can use to make the sounds he needs. His ear is so well trained that he is able to tune his instrument without the cheap tuner he bought, and he even starts to add his own twist on songs he plays, adding a triplet of notes to make an arpeggio, or even replacing some notes to make an entirely different sound.

Sometimes he writes things too, but it’s hard to remember it all when the notes seem to just pour out of him, an endless stream of noise that continues for hours without him realizing it. He stays in his room, playing with his eyes closed, and sometimes, he imagines he isn't alone, that there is someone by his side, playing with him and watching him and staying with him until he pulls the never ending song to a close that's queued by his mother’s soft knock on the door.

The song still plays, though it isn't in his head. Hinata finds that there is music always in his head, that everything he hears is somehow worked into a melody of some sort, and by the time auditions are around five months away, he not only hears it, he _feels_ it. His body moves when he plays, he listens to a song the first time through, and by the second time, he is playing along, and he practices for hours every day, skips lunch during school days, and sometimes, when it's late at night, he’ll plays outside in his backyard on the summer nights.

It’s only days before he turns sixteen, and he plays and pretends the tears that slide over his cheeks aren't there. Truth is, he doesn’t know why he cries, but he blames the fact that every time he opens his eyes, every time he imagines someone else besides him, playing a melody that isn’t his own, they are not there, and he is faced with being alone.

\---

(After the audition, it is as sunny as ever, no rain and no despair except for what lays in Hinata’s chest, and it’s like a kick in the fucking face.)

\---

For two weeks, the violin rests untouched in its case, collecting dust, and Hinata’s house is no longer full of music.

He still feels it under his skin, pushing out, and melodies are stuck in his head, things he longs to play but also things he _can’t_ because it isn’t worth it to try at something he will constantly fail at, it isn’t worth it to keep feeling so horrible inside.

He doesn’t protest when his mom forces him into the passenger seat of the car, one day. He asks where they’re going, and she tells him it’s a surprise, which either means that it’s a surprise birthday party that’s being thrown way too late, or he has a doctor's visit and has to get a shot (he hates needles).

It’s neither, and Hinata is confused when they stop in front of a small shop that has blooming sunflowers in front, a thin brick pathway that leads to the side door. Inside, his heart stops and restarts again.

There are instruments everywhere, hanging on the walls carefully in a display, and Hinata is drawn to the violins, how shiny they are, millions of times better than the one he was given, with its scratches and dents in the wood, how it smells like old dust and mud. There’s a hand on his back, gently guiding him, and his mom whispers in his ear, “I would love to hear you play again.”

A violin that hangs in the corner on a hook catches Hinata’s eye, and he carefully picks it up. It is used, he can tell by the slight wear of the dark red-tinted wood, and the scratch that runs down the bottom of the instrument in a slight curve, but he holds it up in position and plucks the strings and it feels right, something stirring in his chest, like whenever Natsu smiles at him all wide, and when he gets a good score on a math test. It feels perfect and everything is wonderful.

In his heart, a melody begins to play.

\---

He tunes the instruments in return for a discount on the monthly payments his mother pays for the ownership of the violin, and Hinata thinks it’s the best deal he could ask for.

The payments aren’t a lot, considering what the violin must have cost when it was brand new, and besides, helping to tune the instruments gives him something to do on weekends other than play at home and watch tv and procrastinate his homework until the late hours of Sunday night. Sometimes, the shopkeeper gives him old music books as a gift, though they end up just sitting in a pile under Hinata’s bed, and he only takes them out when he needs to look up the name of a song he wants to learn.

It’s not a lot, but the violin he plays is worth it, with how the sound hangs in the air, ringing out and dissipating perfectly. It’s a wonderful instrument, and playing it is even more wonderful. Music helps Hinata more than it did before, and he keeps trying, keeps getting better, and closes his eyes and imagines someone is beside him playing, too.

\---

It’s hard to navigate to the door in the middle of the night.

The sunflowers stand tall everywhere, facing towards the horizon, where the sun set hours ago. It’s midnight, and Hinata takes the key from where it hangs on a string around his neck to unlock the door of the music shop. He's here to tune the instruments before a showing the next morning, and Hinata quietly knocks on the door to see if anyone is there. As expected, the shopkeeper has gone home, and Hinata inserts the key and goes to unlock it. Surprisingly, it is already unlocked, and so Hinata just heads inside and locks the door behind him.

His violin and bow are in his hands, to help him know what instruments are in tune and which aren’t, and he moves to set them down, but freezes.

“Hello?” Hinata asks, and no one answers. It’s quiet, but something else catches Hinata’s attention.

Softly, barely audible under the creak of the wood flooring as he walks, Hinata can hear someone playing.

It's gentle, not too fast but not slow either, a longing melody filled with an ache that he can feel, and Hinata is walking towards the sound without even willing his body to do so, behind the counter (where he is usually forbidden to go) and through a long hallways that lead to a door. He is gripping his violin and he knows it is someone playing the piano right before he freezes at the door that is cracked open. Holding his breath, Hinata opens the door quietly and walks inside.

It is a small room, and there is a piano in the center, and sitting on the bench before it, is a boy. His back faces Hinata, shoulders hunched slightly as he plays, and Hinata knows this song, knows how his hands should move and play. His hand tightens around his violin.

He is different than anyone else Hinata has ever seen. His hair, the way each strand blends into the darkness of the room, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. Even the way he leans when he plays is mesmerizing, his fingers pressing down on the keys gently and with purpose, each movement meaningful and full of feeling. And the _sound_ , the way the music fills the room makes Hinata think his heart is beating in time with the gentle taps of his foot and the occasional press of the pedal. He doesn’t even look at his music, just plays from his heart. 

Hinata watches all this and raises his violin to his neck. His eyes close, his nose scrunched up, and Hinata plays.

There's a slam of chords so loud that Hinata even jumps a little, and he opens his eyes to see the boy staring at him.

“Who are you?” the boy asks quickly, and Hinata takes a step back.

“Who are _you_ ,” he retorts, and the boy’s face scrunched up.

“I asked you first. Are you breaking in? Aren't you too short to be a criminal?” The boy asks, and Hinata puffs out his chest.

“No! I tune the instruments,” he says, and he steps forward. “And I’m not short!”

“Not to be rude, but have you ever measured yourself? You're, like, barely one hundred centimeters, I bet.”

“What? Are you stupid? I'm one hundred and _sixty-three_ , and I'm still growing!” Hinata squeaks and the boy just rolls his eyes. “Who are you, you freakishly tall giant?” Hinayana continues, and the boy glares.

“I'm Kageyama Tobio, and I help clean up the back room on weekends,” he says, and Hinata tilts his head.

“You play the piano?” He asks suddenly and watches as Kageyama steps forward. It makes Hinata mad, having to tilt his head up to look Kageyama in the eye. He’s doing it to piss him off, that much he knows.

“No, I was just pressing random keys and happened to play that entire sonata perfectly,” he says, and Hinata’s eyes widen until Kageyama leans down into his face and snaps, “of course I play the piano! Are you an idiot?”

“Hey! Don't call me an idiot, stupid!”

“Well don't question the obvious, dumbass!”

Hinata takes a step back, blood boiling beneath his skin. He wants nothing more than to punch this stupid Kageyama in the face, and maybe shove his head into the piano and slam the lid over his head repeatedly, but he takes a deep breath. Committing murder at the prime age of sixteen definitely won't get him into the Miyagi orchestra.

“Why are you here so late?” He finally asks, and Kageyama crosses his arms.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“I’m supposed to tune the instruments before the store opens. There's a showing tomorrow, a school wants to see if the instruments are good here. They totally are, but I guess the school wants to send someone down just in case, so I have to make sure all the instruments sound good,” Hinata says, and Kageyama slowly unfolds his arms. They hang by his sides, fingers picking at the fabric of his sweatpants. “What about you?” Hinata asks.

“I just like to play here,” Kageyama states slowly, and Hinata nods. Hinata isn't a total idiot and knows it's deeper than that, but he also just met Kageyama and knows it's useless to push for more information when he knows it won't be given to him, so instead, an idea pops into his head, and he smiles.

“Well, I'll leave you alone. I'm gonna be tuning the instruments up front,” he says, and he bends down to pick up his violin. He can feel Kageyama’s eyes on him, and he waves over his shoulder as he leaves.

In the front, he lifts up his violin and plays a few notes, humming the tone and getting it in his head before he sets his instrument down and picks up the other violins that hang down from a rack. There are only five other violins and one or two of each wind and brass instrument; Hinata can tune them all. The only one he has trouble with is the trombone, where the sixth position is too far down for his arms to reach when he needs to play a scale, but no one else has to know that.

He’s moved on to the one flute when he hears the old wood floor of the shop creak, and he turns around to see Kageyama, his arms stiff by his side and Hinata has to turn his head again to hide his smile as he softly blows across the opening of the flute.

“You know how to play everything?” Kageyama asks after a moment.

“No, of course not. I just have a good ear, and know the scales,” he says. He twists the mouthpiece in more and plays a concert B scale. Perfect. He wipes it clean with a polishing cloth before setting it back down on the shelf where it stays. 

“But you play the violin?” Kageyama asks, and Hinata nods.

“Yeah, for about three years, now,” he says, and Kageyama just stares at him.

“Isn't it hard?” 

“It was, at first,” Hinata says, walking over to pick up his violin before continuing, “but isn't everything? You have to practice to be good, and I practiced a lot.”

He doesn't have to say exactly what ‘a lot’ means because he thinks Kageyama gets it, from how he pushes his lips together and leans against the doorway, rolling up his sweater sleeves so they wrinkle and fold over his elbows. Hinata brings up his bow, running his finger across the hair.

“Are you in the Miyagi orchestra? You sound good enough to be a member,” Hinata says, watching Kageyama through lidded eyes. He wants Kageyama to think he doesn't care, but really, he cares too much. He knows he will try out again this year, and auditions are already only months away. He doesn't want to repeat last year, doesn't want to feel that horrible feeling that sunk in his chest when he was told straight up that he wasn't good enough, that his skills weren't even adequate.

His fingers tighten, and he quickly puts his bow down before he breaks the hair. 

“No,” Kageyama answers softly, and he looks down. Hinata can almost feel his pain, his sadness, the same way he can feel music flowing through him when he listens to a really good song, and it hurts his heart, makes him almost forgive Kageyama for being a complete dickhead, which wasn’t a great first impression at all, but Hinata thinks he can get past it, maybe; after all, he did play really well, and Hinata _needs_ someone like that.

So he picks up his violin, ignores the part of him that says he has to finish tuning the one cello, how he isn’t going to be able to lift the thing if his arms are all stiff and sore from playing, because it’s that same voice that told him putting down his violin and refusing to play it would solve all his problems.

It didn’t, and he is months behind, and still playing alone.

Kageyama is watching him as he approaches, until he is looking down at Hinata with eyes so dark they blend in with the shadows that he places on the wall. When he takes Kageyama’s hand, Hinata can feel the warmth of it, something lighting way down in his chest as he squeezes Kageyama’s skin so hard he can feel his heart pulse (a melody inside his head plays in time), and for the second time in his life, Hinata _knows_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to Grammarly to being my beta bc i have no friends to help me (u.u)
> 
> also, note the song title that was linked first- Just For You. I envision that Kageyama plays that for his mother.
> 
> listen to all compositions by NEET, they're beautiful and exactly how I imagine Kageyama plays, and I will definitely use a lot of his songs in this series.
> 
> next part in one-two weeks(?)


	2. eighth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because that’s the power of music, of instruments with strings and brass and drums and chimes and everything that makes a sound. It creates something in everyone, a feeling or a memory, something sad or something happy, most usually a sense of both. It takes any person to make music; It takes a talented musician to push an entire audience to the same feeling _with_ that music. That is what the Miyagi Orchestra is made to do, to force a feeling into everyone’s hearts, to bring that emotion, along with a sense of an individual experience, so that when everyone is gone, they all have a shared experience that is different and unique, yet still the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is!! Pretty short, but the next part will _really_ make up for it! I am getting surgery this week (don't worry, nothing that bad but the procedure itself is difficult and will leave me quite out of it for a few days), so I won't update until after two weeks when I can have another chapter finished so I'm absolutely sure it is perfect!
> 
> (as always, some music is linked.)

When Hinata pulls Kageyama down the long hallway, Kageyama is almost frozen. His toes keep bumping into Hinata’s heels, and he almost trips a few times, reaching out to brush his hand against the wall to steady himself. He doesn’t know what else to do, other than let himself be lugged behind Hinata, and only when Hinata practically shoves him onto the piano bench does realization finally dawn on him.

You want us to play-”

"Together!" Hinata finishes. He plays a few measures of [music](https://soundcloud.com/renatobarraza11/pavane-pour-une-infante-defunte-violin-y-piano), and asks, "do you know it?”

“Yes,” Kageyama answers, but his mind still isn’t wrapped around the fact that someone wants to play with him, stand next to him and _stay_.

“Great! Let's see if I can keep up. I've never played with anyone before, you know,” Hinata says, and even though he smiles, Kageyama can still feel something negative behind the words. Shame, maybe, or a degree of sadness. Kageyama doesn't judge because he can relate, but the problem is not that he has no one, it is that no one wants to have _him_.

“I don’t play with people,” Kageyama says, and Hinata blinks, smile faltering a little bit until it just turns into a small frown. “I prefer to play by myself, I mean.”

“Oh,” Hinata says.

“It’s just that I’m difficult,” Kageyama rushes to say, “I’m too difficult to play with, and no one really can keep up, and…”

“I can keep up,” Hinata states. Just like that, all other questions are pushed out of Kageyama’s mouth

With a breath, the musky smell of the old piano and the thin layer of dust that refuses to leave (no matter how many times Kageyama tries to clean it off) fills his lungs. It's familiar, makes him feel okay and calm, and slowly, he starts to play.

When Hinata jumps in, quiet to a full crescendo and back down again, it's like a wave of noise that slams into him. It hurts, but it's the good kind of hurt, one that makes Kageyama falter slightly and wonder where this has been all his life. He keeps going slow, because that is the way the song is written, and he knows Hinata’s part is more complex than just chords and a few thrills.

With every note that Kageyama would normally play alone, he is instead accompanied, and Hinata completes the song perfectly.

There is no squeak, not one missed note, and Kageyama hates how his hands shake, freezing until he can't even play, he just sits with his hands in his lap, gripping the fabric of his sweatpants. He looks over his shoulder at Hinata, who is still playing, eyes closed and brows furrowed. After a second, he realizes Kageyama has stopped, and his eyes slowly open.

(It's like watching the sunrise, brown mixed with amber all looking at him and something pushes through his chest and makes it hard to breathe.)

It's silent, but Hinata is quickly standing up a bit straighter and tugging at a lock of his hair.

“Crap, I messed up, didn't I? Did I play a note wrong, or something?” He asks, and Kageyama just narrows his eyes.

“You didn't mess up, idiot,” he snaps, cutting off Hinata’s worried words, and Hinata just looks at him.

“Then why'd you stop?” He asks, and Kageyama freezes. He doesn't know, to be honest, doesn't know anything other than the fact that his hands were shaking too much, and everything seemed so dream-like, the feelings of reaching up and up and almost brushing upon the keys of his piano filling him and making it impossible to continue.

But this is no dream, and for that, Kageyama is grateful.

“Kageyama?” 

He looks up, and Hinata smiles before saying, “if there's nothing wrong, can we play again?”

And they do, again, and again, and again, and Kageyama has never been more complete.

\---

Hinata, as Kageyama comes to learn, is everything he despises.

Loud, obnoxious, stupid, annoying, clingy.

It’s infuriating, the way he gets under Kageyama’s skin, making him scream and yell at him, but still, there are the moments when he is playing and he forgets all these things he hates. It’s amazing, and sometimes his hands shake when he plays and hears Hinata beside him, his violin soft and like a breath, in and out, because he just feels wonderful.

It's hard to describe, but it's like a spark ignites in his chest, lit aflame by each note Hinata hits, and the flame only grows when he watches the way Hinata moves, leaning in and out to each melody he plays. It’s stupid, and Kageyama doesn’t really think that feeling like this is normal, so he doesn’t say anything about it to Hinata and he ignored it most of the time. Besides, it’s probably just because he’s happy to actually play with people, and definitely not anything more serious than that.

Besides, being with Hinata is sort of like a double-edged sword. Yeah, he gets a partner to play with, someone to audition with and be with, even though Kageyama is sure that Hinata will ditch him and leave him the moment he gets into the Miyagi Orchestra, but playing with Hinata also means dealing with him, which is a lot of effort, a lot of screaming and cursing, and a whole lot of threatening on his part.

Of course, Hinata threatens too, but usually, Kageyama will just grab his violin bow and hold it really high above his head, and Hinata will whine and promise to stop being annoying, only to stick his tongue out like a child when Kageyama gives it back to him.

The point is that Hinata is a dumbass, even though he is almost as skilled as Kageyama when it comes to music. Kageyama will poke fun as Hinata’s height, hair, and just about anything he can, but he won’t lie and say Hinata is bad at music, because he knows he isn’t.

They meet outside the shop on Wednesdays. The first week, it’s weird, because Kageyama doesn't like to think about the last time he played with someone, and he's sure they don't like to think of him, either. He has a heaviness in his legs, as he walks to the music shop, because even with his earbuds in, music playing so loud he's sure everyone walking past him knows exactly what song he is listening to, he can still hear them, all of their sneers, all of the taunts they gave him.

He hears himself too, the part of himself he'd like to think has long since been buried, the part that yells and screams and _hates_.

The part of himself that he doesn't want to ever bring out again.

Kageyama waits in the back room, first just fooling around on the piano and wondering what he and Hinata will actually play, and then he looks at the time, and it’s ten minutes after Hinata promised he would be there. Which is fine, totally, and Kageyama shouldn’t be overreacting but he _is_ because what if he changed his mind or heard about how horrible and nasty Kageyama really is?

After that, Kageyama waits outside. 

He hears Hinata before he sees him. Loud, thundering footsteps that slam against the side of the empty road, all seemingly impossibly loud for the short figure that runs up. Kageyama stands up, watching with unblinking eyes as Hinata bounds up to him. He’s panting, clutching his violin in both hands in front of him, and he has earbuds in.

“Why are you outside?” Hinata asks, but it’s more like a yell because Kageyama assumes that he’s listening to music so loud that he can’t even hear himself speak.

“Be quiet, stupid,” he scolds, and he pulls out the earbuds out of Hinata’s ears hard enough that he winces and shouts in protest.

“I’m sorry!” Hinata says, and Kageyama almost feels bad. “What were you doing outside?” Hinata asks again, and Kageyama shrugs his shoulders, shoves down that feeling of despair and fear he was feeling earlier, and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“I knew you’d be distracted, so you’d probably miss the place, or get lost,” Kageyama says, and Hinata rolls his eyes.

“I know where I’m going,” he mumbles, and Kageyama grunts. Hinata walks to the door and Kageyama is right behind him when he swings it open to he goes inside, almost smacking Kageyama right in the face in the process, but apologizing behind a laugh that he tries to hide. Kageyama is frozen for a second as he listens to the chime of Hinata's laugh, the sound a melody of its own, but then Hinata looks at him with a mischievous glint in his eye and fakes the motion of slamming the door in Kageyama's face again before running off, his laugh following him down the empty store until Kageyama hears the sturdy slam of the door of the back room.

Kageyama waits, crosses his arm and just stares at the hallway, and eventually, just like he thought, there is the creaking of wood as Hinata peeks around the corner and frowns.

"Alright, I'm super sorry, like, the sorriest I've ever been, so can we play now?"

Kageyama just raises an eyebrow and Hinata groans.

"Please? Pretty please? Kageyamaaa," he whines, drawing out the 'a' in Kageyama's name until he's out of breath

Kageyama grins, and he pushes himself off the wall, kicking the door shut behind him.

\---

Wednesday's become the thing he thinks about almost all the time. He fades in and out of conversations with Nao and only snaps back to attention when she calls his name in an exasperated sigh. With school approaching, he doesn't want to think about facing another year alone, sitting in empty hallways during lunch and doing partner projects alone. He knows he's better off by himself, knows that there isn't anyone he can depend on, but it still hurts. 

When the time comes to meet Hinata, he can never get out the door fast enough, skipping over the creaking steps and tucking his keys in his jacket pocket as he walks down the empty roads. He isn't scared, to walk alone in the dark, not like Hinata is, how he talks hurriedly as he sheds off his jacket and drops it to the floor in a heap. It's always a new threat- the sound of a car whizzing by, branches snapping a mere few steps behind him- everything sets him off and Hinata ends up sprinting into the shop and slamming the door behind him. As always, the sound is loud enough to make Kageyama jump from where he sits and stop playing, freezing as he hears Hinata’s soft footsteps rush down the hallway and stop at the door. He slowly pushes it open.

It takes a few minutes for Hinata to calm down, the redness in his cheeks fading back to his normal complexion, and his breathing slow and steady. Not like before, where he was leaning over and trying to say his excuse with small, short breaths. 

“We waste time, you know, with you waiting to calm down and all that,” Kageyama says this time, and Hinata lifts his chin in defiance, arms folding.

“You should be thankful, Kageyama-kun. I may run here, but at least I make it here alive,” he says, and Kageyama can't help but roll his eyes and hide his smile by turning his head back to his music folder. “Anyways,” Hinata continues, “I have a good reason for being late. The audition pieces for the Miyagi Orchestra have been released."

Immediately, Kageyama is up and out of his seat. He takes two giant steps until he’s leaning down and peering over Hinata’s shoulder from where he sits, legs folding on the floor. Hinata's shoves a few sheets of paper over his shoulder and into Kageyama’s face, and Kageyama's grabs them and takes a good look at them.

The music isn't hard, for him at least, but one good look and he knows that this is a challenging piece, something that he knows will depend on him listening to Hinata, rather than strictly following the composition. He looks up at Hinata, who is setting his music on a stand, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth as he fingers through some positions of the notes.

“We can try to sight read it,” Kageyama's offers, and he doesn't miss the way Hinata seems to freeze for a second, blinking slowly before smiling up at Kageyama and giving a small laugh.

“Don't you think it'd be better to play something else together now? Next week we can go through it,” he replies, and Kageyama wants to object, say it's better they figure out their trouble spots _now_ , rather than waste a week struggling through the piece, but something in Hinata’s tone makes him swallow the words down.

“Alright,” he says instead, and Hinata smiles, a relieved and small one as he breathes out. 

It's weird, he won't deny it, because if anything, they should be tackling the audition piece as soon as possible. To not play and hold it off until next week gives them a disadvantage. A small one, sure, but a disadvantage nonetheless.

Even so, he can't push it. All he can think about is Hinata’s face, how worried he looked for an instant, something that Kageyama would have never pictured on Hinata’s face. He's used to seeing him smile, and laugh, and stick his tongue out and scrunch up his nose whenever he messes up. Now, Hinata is just worrying his bottom lip until it starts to bleed, violin trembling on his hold. Kageyama doesn't like it, and he won't bring that ugly part of himself up to the surface, won't force his way and won't start a fight with Hinata, because he doesn't want to lose the one good thing he has.

So he starts a [Bach](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0aIUQOnj6jU) piece. It's a fun one, especially when Hinata will speed up and they'll compete to see who can make the other drop out first. He likes classical music, the way it flows easily. With Hinata, it sounds even better, and time seems to speed by as they play. When they’re done, Kageyama looks over at Hinata, who is smiling so brightly, the room seems dark around him, all light centered around Hinata’s smile, and Kageyama opens his mouth to say _something, anything-_

He swallows his words, and instead, he looks away.

\---

It's the first day of school on Monday, four days after practicing with Hinata, and Kageyama is walking down the hallway, pulling down his black jacket from where it wrinkles at his waist and squinting at a map that doesn't make sense when he hears it.

It's familiar, the start of a [song](https://soundcloud.com/la-vender/czardas?in=user-225515429) that he knows by heart, and his chest is rising, feet moving faster than they were previously as he follows the sound of the violin that he knows so well. When he's at the door, he doesn't hesitate to push it open, and he lets his bag drop to the floor as he stares at the person playing in front of him.

With a breath, he says, “Hinata.”

The music stops, and the boy turns to look over his shoulder, not even looking surprised as he smiles.

“Oh, hey, Kageyama.”

\---

They go to the same school.

Kageyama doesn't know why Hinata isn’t surprised, but he doesn't care enough to ask. Well, he does care, but he doesn't want to seem like an idiot if it was something obvious, or if Hinata had told him what school he was going to and Kageyama was too busy to listen. So he doesn't ask, and Hinata tells him anyways.

“You wore your school jacket, once,” he says, “and I could read the school name on the front. I kinda wanted to surprise you, but you found me first, so you ruined my plans, bully.”

Kageyama rolls his eyes and Hinata picks up his violin again, positioning it in the crook of his neck. Kageyama watches his chest rise in a slow breath before Hinata meets Kageyama’s eye with a small smile as he asks, “Well? Are you going to join me, or not?”

Kageyama knows he would be damned if he said no. 

They play until Hinayana complains of a cramp in his wrist, and then he demands to see Kageyama’s schedule. Kageyama hands him his phone and pulls up a picture of his schedule, and Hinayana pulls out his own printed copy, all wrinkled and ripped a little at the edges, and a weird stain in the middle.

“It's coffee. My little sister spilled it,” Hinata says when he sees Kageyama’s stare.

“Your little sister drinks coffee?” 

“No, but she spilled my moms. What kind of little kid drinks coffee?”

Kageyama shrugs. He points to the third line on the paper.

“We have Orchestra together,” he says, and Hinata smiles and points at the top corner.

“And we have the same lunch schedule,” he says, and Kageyama can’t look away from Hinata’s smile, how his lips curve up, and his grin is kind of lopsided, imperfect but it still makes something warm up in Kageyama's chest.

Of course, he can’t let Hinata know that his smile makes him feel weird, so Kageyama flicks his forehead and shoves his phone back in his pocket. Hinata wastes no time in punching Kageyama in the shoulder.

The bell rings and Kageyama can feel a bruise forming on his shoulder and Hinata has a scratch on his arm, but they still walk out of the door side by side, shoulders brushing and Hinata’s violin case brushing against Kageyama’s leg.

(The feeling is unnatural to him, but Kageyama wants it so desperately for it to feel familiar.)

From that day forward, Kageyama spends every third period trying to pinpoint exactly which violin is Hinata, which isn't that hard. From where he sits, seated on the piano bench next to the timpani player, he can easily spot Hinata. He’s in the second row, which isn’t bad- usually, the best players sit in the first row- but considering Hinata is a first-year, he couldn’t expect anything else.

Orchestra class is fun, and it’s the only period of the day where Kageyama doesn’t want to curl up in a hole and die. It’s three weeks into school and Hinata has seemingly made friends with everyone in their class, talking and laughing while he tunes his violin as well as being held back by other students before the bell rings for lunch.

Not like Kageyama watches, or cares, he just happens to glance in his direction as he shuts the lid to the piano, bids goodbye to Yachi, the timpani player, and gathers all his music in a folder to take home. He doesn’t mind that no one really talks to him- save for Yachi, who is always peering over Kageyama’s shoulders to see what page of music they’re on, her feet pressing the pedals of the drums quickly to keep up with their conductor- because talking is only a distraction from what really matters, anyways. 

Besides, it's not like he _wants_ Hinata to talk to him, or maybe even spare a glance in his direction or anything. Absolutely not, because Hinata spends his Wednesday nights with him, anyways, and that's more than Kageyama can ask for. Surely, if Hinata spent too much time with him, he'd get tired and leave Kageyama in the dirt. If Kageyama wants to audition for the Miyagi Orchestra, all he needs to do is practice and ignore everything else.

He needs to ignore the worried stares his nanny gives him when he comes home, ignore the way his father retreats into his office more and more, passing through the hallways of their home like a ghost. Kageyama knows it isn’t normal, and he knows he can change it if he starts at the beginning, the way he can change a song if only by changing the roots of the chords, but he can’t even grasp where to begin.

\---

He’s off.

Which is weird, because Hinata is _never_ off, but this time he is, standing out from the others and not in a good way, and it hurts Kageyama’s ears to even listen to him. He doesn’t understand because they were doing fine, but sight reading obviously isn’t Hinata’s strong suit, because he seems to be hitting every note wrong. Kageyama isn't the only one who's thrown off; almost all the violins are giving him side glances, trying to figure out what he's doing, one even stopping completely and reaching over to point to the measure of music they're at to make sure Hinata isn't playing in the wrong place. But Kageyama knows there is nothing that sounds like that in the composition. He’s played this before, listened to it many times, and Hinata is just _wrong_.

With a raised fist, their conductor cuts everyone off and turns to Hinata.

“Hinata, are you having trouble?” She asks, and Hinata’s cheeks flush so bright they almost match his hair.

“N-no. Well, yes, but I just need to practice,” he stammers, and she nods slowly in consideration. Everyone else is quiet, and Kageyama’s stomach twists in embarrassment, even though he’s not the one that everyone’s staring at. Everyone is looking at Hinata, whispering to each other and Hinata notices it, hunches his shoulders up to his ears and takes his bottom lip between his teeth like Kageyama has noticed he always does when he’s really nervous. Kageyama stares at their conductor, and she meets his eye and coughs a bit into her fist, quieting everyone in the room.

“Why don't you use one of the private practice rooms for the period?” She asks, but it more of a demand rather than a request, and Hinata goes rigid in his seat. Everyone is looking at him, and Kageyama watches as Hinata nods sharply and gathers his things quickly before rushing out of the classroom, right past Kageyama. Out of his folder, a sheet of music slips out and floats to the ground before landing beneath the leg of the piano bench that Kageyama sits on. He looks down at it, not listening when their conductor tells everyone which song to take out and ignoring the orchestra when it begins to play, and barely hearing Yachi ask him what measure they're on. He doesn't know anyways, because all he sees is the sheet of music, covered in a messy scrawl of weird symbols that don't even represent notes, just a weird... code, or something.

Kageyama picks up the sheet and slides it beneath his music own music. If he listens closely, beyond the soft chatter of students gossiping and others writing in notes and positions into their music, he can hear one of the practice rooms shut with a click, and Kageyama shakes his head a little.

He doesn't care, he _shouldn't_ care. Hinata might play with Kageyama every Wednesday late at night, but it's not like they’re friends. They have a deal, and that’s to help each other get into the Miyagi Orchestra. After that, Kageyama knows he will be back to playing alone, and he doesn’t have a problem with that, not really, because three or four months of playing with someone is more than he could ask for. If he’s lucky, Hinata won’t get tired of him before the deadline.

So Kageyama doesn’t care. He can’t care, because caring only means he’ll be disappointed in the end, and he thinks he’s dealt with enough disappointment to last him a lifetime.

The bell rings, and Kageyama grabs his music folder. Everyone is rushing out of the classroom, even the teacher, and soon everyone is gone except for Kageyama, who remains seated on the bench of the piano. He doesn’t move, doesn’t even breathe until the room is completely silent.

Hinata walks into the room not even a second later after everyone is gone. He doesn’t notice Kageyama, not until he has stood up and is practically looming over him, glaring down at him and growling, “what the hell was that?”

Hinata jumps up, almost dropping his violin to the ground.

“Fuck! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” he exclaims, but Kageyama just takes another step forward for each tiny step Hinata backs up.

“You sucked today,” Kageyama says. Hinata slumps over and doesn't look at him, just stares down at his feet with an expression that makes it seem like he's praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. His eyes are a bit red, and Kageyama briefly wonders if he was crying.

“I know I did, no need to rub it in,” he says bitterly, and Kageyama shakes his head.

“You _never_ suck. What the hell is wrong with you? This entire class you’ve been playing everything wrong.”

“I don’t know!” Hinata says, pulling at a lock of his hair. “I didn’t get to practice yesterday, and I didn’t sleep much either and-”

“And what’s this?” Kageyama demands, pulling out the music sheet that Hinata had dropped. “What does this even mean? These aren’t even notes.”

If Hinata’s face could get any redder than it already is, it does. He makes a reach for it, but Kageyama pulls it back, holding it up over his head where he knows Hinata can’t reach. It’s mean, he knows it is, especially because he’s grown so used to Hinata complaining about how short he is, but he can’t help it because he _wants_ to piss Hinata off- if only to understand why he isn’t playing well.

“That’s not yours!” Hinata yells and he jumps for it, lands and stomps his foot when he misses. “Stop shoving your nose into my business, Kageyama!”

“I’m not getting in your business, I’m just-” _worried_ , is what he wants to say, but the word can’t come out. Hinata huffs, waiting for a moment, letting the sentence hang in the air before he frowns even deeper. Kageyama can’t speak, his air is trapped behind a wall and he doesn’t even notice how his hand falls, practically dropping the music sheet into Hinata’s hand. Hinata takes it and picks up his violin case.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he says, but his tone is cold and mean, and Kageyama can’t force the apology off his tongue until the door is already swinging shut, slamming into the frame so loud that one of the music stands falls over. Kageyama just stands there, panting, until he growls and shoves his hands into his pockets. He walks out the door, half expecting Hinata to be waiting outside, but he isn’t, and Kageyama can’t ignore the cold feeling that sinks in his chest.

Outside, the air is warm, but that coldness sticks to the insides of his chest, heavy and insuperable, and he hates it.

\---

That night, Hinata isn’t late.

He’s early, there before Kageyama arrives, and he’s ready. He has been listening to an audio recording of the piece he didn't know in school since he walked home, has had it on repeat, and he is positive he knows most of the song. He figures they can play that for most of the night, and move onto the audition piece towards the end. He only knows the beginning, is a bit shaky on the middle, and doesn't really know any of the end, but Kageyama likes to perfect the beginning and middle before they tackle the ending of any composition, so he’s pretty sure he’ll be okay. He knows Kageyama is still mad at him, has the total and complete right to _be_ mad at him, and will probably continue to be mad at him until Hinata proves himself.

And Hinata is prepared to prove himself if Kageyama is willing to let him.

Hinata has heard things, of course; it would be impossible to have played with Kageyama this long and to have _not_ heard about all the horrible tales, the rumors and names and accusations that Hinata is shocked to hear. Even so, Hinata can’t help but swipe all those things under the rug. He’s heard Kageyama play, seen the way music seems to bend to his will and how he reins everyone in when he plays. Yes, Kageyama yells at him, tells him to listen, to pay attention, yells over his shoulder while he plays and forces Hinata to think, but it all works out for the best in the end, and Hinata is pretty sure that even if Kageyama is mad, he can't be so mad as to not let Hinata try to redeem himself, after all, they're teammates, partners, and maybe even friends.

Maybe.

Hinata doesn't know if they’re really friends. He doesn’t think there is a word for what they are because 'friend' isn’t as serious and 'partner' is something that entails a harsh and long history, something that neither of them has had together. Separately, of course, but together, no.

All Hinata knows is that whatever they are, whatever their whole relationship is, he doesn’t want to screw it up. And to keep it fixed, he can only do one thing. 

Hinata plays.

It’s the audition piece, something from a famous film. The Miyagi orchestra always has a theme, and this theme is soaring high. Kageyama thought it was stupid, because how in the hell can you put the feeling of flying into music if no one has ever experienced it before?

“That’s the point, dummy,” Hinata had said, leaning forward on his knees. He remembers that night, the heat of the summer slowly fading away and being replaced with the start of a harsh winter. He remembers how the tip of his nose bumped against Kageyama’s, and he pulled back a little, smiling wide with Kageyama just staring at him, and he remembers laughing and saying how that was the point, that was the whole stupid point.

“How?” Kageyama asked, sleeve wiping at his nose as if Hinata causes him to itch.

“Because,” Hinata said softly, “The only way humans can truly fly is if they listen to a song that takes them there.”

Kageyama had nodded because it's true, that’s the power of music, of instruments with strings and brass and drums and chimes and everything that makes a sound. It creates something within everyone, a feeling or a memory, something sad or something happy, most usually a sense of both. It takes any person to make music, but it takes a talented musician to push an entire audience to the same feeling _with_ that music. That is what the Miyagi Orchestra is made to do, to force a feeling into everyone’s hearts, to bring that emotion, along with a sense of an individual experience, so that when everyone is gone, they all have a shared experience that is different and unique, yet still the same.

And that is where Hinata belongs. He belongs on that stage, on the busses that they tour in, in cramped hotel rooms full of other musicians, in the chairs of the various theaters they play in. He belongs there, and he will get there, and he will play.

It is a quarter after nine when Kageyama arrives. Hinata knows it is him because of the footsteps, quiet and calculated through the hallway to the back. Hinata figures that Kageyama has heard him and doesn’t want to distract him or pull him away from his playing, because he can hear Kageyama stop at the door, the wood paneling creaking slightly. Hinata continues to play, pulls his earbuds out and stuffs them into his pocket. He’s still humiliated over what happened at school, and for a second, he imagines what would happen if Kageyama found out the truth about him.

He would hate Hinata, that’s for sure. He would hate Hinata and he would never play with him again. Hinata would never get into the Miyagi orchestra because the whole point of it is you need to play an accompanying piece with someone else, and that fact is the entire reason Hinata failed the first time. That, and the fact that his solo audition was a complete and total disaster that still haunts him, full of judgemental coughs and the loud scratches of pen on paper.

Hinata fumbles, bow twisting weirdly as he flounders his way through a quick series of notes he thought he had memorized, and the sound that comes from his violin is gross and unprofessional. Hinata takes a deep breath and lowers his instrument. Kageyama still hasn't come in, so he’s either texting or playing some weird puzzle game on his phone outside the door, or waiting and listening to Hinata.

Hinata quickly does a run-through of the music in his head, and he takes a deep breath. It’s okay, he will do fine. He has had all week to make this sound good, and although it isn’t perfect, it’s getting there. He just needs to listen, and not ever let Kageyama know the truth.

See? Easy.

“I know you’re there, Kageyama,” Hinata calls, striding to the door in two steps and swinging it open. Kageyama almost falls over from where he was, practically pressed against the door. He’s at a loss for words, and Hinata rolls his eyes while stepping aside to let him walk in. Once he’s in the room, Hinata shuts the door again and says with a sly smile, “if you wanted to listen to me play so bad, you could have just asked.”

Kageyama blushes a bit, and he looks embarrassed, an expression Hinata has never thought he’d ever see on Kageyama, and it’s kind of… cute, almost. He cranes his neck into his shoulder like he’s trying to hide his face, and Hinata gets that same stupid gooey feeling in his chest that he gets whenever Natsu does something adorable, or when the stray cat that lives in his backyard does that thing where it kneads its paws into Hinata’s lap.

Hinata kicks the thought out of his head because Kageyama is nothing like his younger sister, nor a kitten, and if anything, he’s a grumpy old goat that screams nonstop like the ones in the videos Hinata sees on the internet.

“You messed up,” Kageyama states and Hinata kicks him in the ankle.

“That’s all you have to say to me, Bakageyama?” He shouts, and Kageyama shrugs before taking his seat at the piano bench. His back is to Hinata, so he takes the hint that their conversation is over. While setting up his music stand (he knows he doesn’t need it, but he sometimes writes little-coded symbols that act as footnotes to remind himself of certain things while he plays), he keeps Kageyama in the corner of his eye. He watches him run scales, fingers running up and down smoothly over the keys, wrists lifted and light as he warms up. 

Hinata briefly wonders how he learned. He’s seen the car that picks him up from school sometimes, the shiny, sleek black vehicle that screams money. No doubt Kageyama’s parents provided the best teacher. Then Hinata wonders if Kageyama ever did play with someone else, another violin player. Didn’t Kageyama mention it when h first met him?

“I’m ready,” Kageyama says, and Hinata quiets his thoughts.

“Great! Wanna start the audition piece? I think it says only up to the fiftieth measure, so that’s all I really know-”

“We’re gonna run through it all,” Kageyama says, and Hinata swallows, already feels the nervous lump rising in his throat.

“But I don’t know-”

“You’ll figure it out. Plus, the music is right there. If you mess up a few times, it’s alright, just keep playing,” Kageyama says, and he turns his full attention to the piano. Hinata knows there’s no use in arguing, so he nods his head and raises his violin to his shoulder.

“We’ll start where I come in. Skip the first opening,” Kageyama says, and then he taps his foot softly.

The melody, right away, is happy, full of notes that Kageyama plays short and light. Hinata has his eyes closed like they almost always are when he plays, but he can still picture how Kageyama is moving, fingers dancing up and down with the music and melody. It repeats, and Hinata knows where he jumps in.

He has the same melody as Kageyama, but he draws his notes out more at the end, and while he sways with the feel of it, he can feel Kageyama watching him while he accompanies him. When he is done, Kageyama playing the short interlude before Hinata must join him again, he actually _smiles_. At Hinata. 

(It’s small and only for a second, but it sets Hinata’s heart racing just the same.)

And then he realizes he doesn't know what’s happening. He has a brief idea, but he doesn’t _know_ , and before he can freeze up, he is simply making it up without having made the conscious decision to do so. He hears Kageyama falter a bit, but Hinata hears him going back to that beginning melody, so he plays with him, changing a few notes, sure, but it sounds good. He is trying his best, playing anything that he thinks sounds right, and it does, it doesn’t sound like complete crap so it shouldn't be an _issue_.

But then Kageyama stops playing, and Hinata lets his own sound trail off. He stands stiff, keeping his eyes shut like they always are when he plays because he refuses to open them and face Kageyama, he _can’t_ , and maybe if he keeps his eyes shut and ignores him then this whole situation will rewind and never happen.

“What are you doing?” Kageyama asks, and Hinata wants to bury himself a hole in the ground and lay in it and cry for a couple of hours.

“I- um, read the wrong line, I think,” he stutters while opening his eyes, but even he knows that's a lame excuse, and Kageyama raises an eyebrow.

“No part in the music sounds like that,” he says warily, and Hinata gulps. He can see his reflection in the polished wood of the piano that Kageyama sits at, how his face is all red.

“I-um, Kageyama, I can’t-”

“Unless I’m wrong. Let me see your music, and we can see if there’s a misprint-”

“I can’t read music!” Hinata shouts.

It’s quiet. Hinata’s catching his breath, and his words echo a bit in the empty room. Kageyama’s just staring at him, and Hinata feels _horrible_ , unbelievably horrible and upset beyond words. Of course, he keeps talking.

“I don’t know what this sheet says and I don’t understand many terms and I don’t know what this weird “w” thing means, and I can’t tell you why some of these notes are connected or dotted and why some are filled in and others aren't because I can’t _read_ music and I know it’s really bad and I get it if you hate me and never want to play with me again, so I guess I’ll just go now-”

“Shut up, dumbass!” Kageyama yells, and Hinata squeaks and backs up a bit, ever though he already is far away from Kageyama. Kageyama sits back, bites his bottom lip like he does when he’s thinking, or playing a particularly difficult piece, and Hinata is quiet. Finally, he meets Hinata’s eye and asks, “You can’t read music at all?”

“No,” Hinata whispers, and Kageyama is quiet, turns back to the piano and watches Hinata from the corner of his eye.

Kageyama nods and says, “to the best of your ability, perform your greatest melody, and I will match you.”

Hinata’s heart stops.

\---

When Hinata plays, he plays from his heart.

It’s weird, how Kageyama can feel himself being pulled along. He listens, hears the notes and knows the key of what he is playing and the root chords, and he matches him, he _matches_ him.

It is by far the most wonderful thing he has ever done.

Because for an instant, nothing exists. All the memories of splinters in his hands and strings snapping and music sheets tearing has faded completely and all he hears is music, music that seems to stem from Hinata’s heart, and it weaves into his ribs, encasing his own. He feels beautiful, he feels magical, he feels like he can do anything, and he thinks that maybe, with Hinata, he can.

Hinata matches him, too, leaves room for Kageyama to go off on his own and pulls him back in, and when he wants to finish, Kageyama _knows_ , can feel it in his bones, the heavy weight of satisfaction blooming in his chest in the knowledge that _he just did that_ , he just matched Hinata and played something magnificent without any preparation, and it feels _good_.

If Kageyama is enthusiastic, Hinata is _fervid_ , literally jumping up in the air and gasping so loud and for so long Kageyama wonders where all that air goes. He is bouncing over to Kageyama and throwing his arms around his neck, squeezing so tight Kageyama sees small black dots form in the edges of his vision, and he closes his eyes and lets himself focus on Hinata, on the pull of his sweater from where Hinata’s hands are fisted in the fabric, on the shaky inhale of air right beside his ear. Kageyama can’t breathe, and not just because Hinata is literally cutting off his airway right now, but because his nose is pressed against Hinata’s neck, and he smells really nice and is warm and his hands are shaking when they wrap around Hinata’s middle.

“That was awesome! Beyond cool! Kageyama, that was-” Hinata screams a whole bunch of syllables that Kageyama can’t make out, but it’s okay because his arms are around Hinata and his nose is pressed into his neck and everything is perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the process of creating a playlist for this fic on Soundcloud, and it is almost complete!
> 
> Any suggestion of music for these nerds to play? Or just any ideas at all you wanna talk about? my Tumblr sideblog is [here](http://cinnamuntoast.tumblr.com).
> 
> Thank you!


	3. quarter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The notes tear into him. They sink into his skin like needles and break him apart, and he feels completely ravaged after each pause in Kageyama’s playing. People take out their phones and start to record, and Hinata wants to do the same, but he can't really move. Unlike before, where energy was pulsing through him so fast he could barely breathe, now he is so full of air that he doesn't know how to exhale. Watching Kageyama play is as amazing as listening to him, with how he sits up straight and moves, fingers dancing over the keys and foot pressing on the pedal steadily. Sometimes, he leans in when he presses down harder on the keys, completely unlike the rigid piano players Hinata has seen before in videos and movies. Kageyama plays in a way that can only be truly experienced when you see it and take it all in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such a hard time picking what to use as a chapter summary but oh well.
> 
> music is linked!

“Teach me how to read music.”

Kageyama looks up from where he sits, crouched over a sheet full of geometry problems that he doesn't understand. Hinata is standing, papers scattered and some drifting to the floor from his sudden outburst. He looks out of breath, like even saying that he wants to learn is tiring, which for someone like Hinata, it probably is. A librarian shushes them, glaring at Hinata behind thinly framed glasses and motioning for him to sit back down. Hinata does, scoots his chair all the way forward and leans in so curls of his hair brush against Kageyama’s forehead.

“Why?” Kageyama asks, and Hinata squirms in his seat a little.

“Because… I’ll never be a good musician if I can't read what I'm playing,” he says softly.

“You're already a good musician,” Kageyama says. Hinata’s face lights up as if he’s surprised, and Kageyama briefly wonders if he’s ever really told Hinata exactly how good he is. Kageyama closes his notebook and continues, “Music is hard to read. It takes years and years to be able to sight-read perfectly, and even then, you're never done learning.”

“Well, I can learn more with you then!” Hinata’s eyes are wide and excited, and Kageyama bites his lip. He knows reading music is an important skill, really important, as necessary as actually knowing how to play. But the thing is, Hinata doesn't _need_ to know how to read notes. He already plays better than half the kids in their orchestra without even looking at the music in front of him. Kageyama can tell him no, he knows he can and probably should, but then he thinks of him and Hinata sprawled over music books and abandoned homework, and something pulls inside of him that he opens his mouth to speak before he can think it through.

“I guess I could teach you the basics. It would have to be after school, though, at my house,” Kageyama mumbles.

Hinata shouts, loud and excited and happy, and it echoes off the bookcases the surround them before Kageyama slaps a hand over his mouth. There are sounds of heels furiously clicking on the floor towards their direction, and Kageyama thinks back to the librarian, with her permanent frown and eyes that burned holes into everything she glared at. He hears Hinata gulp beside him.

“I'm going to kill you,” Kageyama whispers to him. Hinata just whimpers.

\---

Kageyama's house is big.

More than big, actually. It's huge, seems too gigantic to hold a family of three, but if fits, oddly enough. The rooms are clean and organized and are all ornate with modern furniture and the same vase of white roses on at least one table. It’s different than what Hinata is used to. He thinks back to his own home, full of mismatched furniture, the old couch with all its rips and holes from the runaway cat Hinata had when he was little. The couch he is seated on now has no holes, no stains or any imperfections on the casing of soft gray leather. There’s a video game system underneath the television, and Kageyama must see Hinata eyeing it because he gets up and puts his hand on his shoulder to steady him.

“We’ll do our homework in my room first, then we can play,” Kageyama says. Hinata nods and stands up to follow him through a long hallway and into a kitchen. The kitchen is clean, completely spotless, and at the table sits a woman. Hinata looks at Kageyama, and back at her. _Weird_ , he thinks, _he doesn’t look anything like his mother_.

It is weird, actually, how Kageyama doesn’t really say anything to her. She just sits at the table, reading one of those adult books about finding a sense of self and making yourself a better person, and she only looks up once. She notices Hinata right away and blinks as if she doesn’t believe that he’s actually there, and then turns to Kageyama.

“You have someone over?” She asks, and Kageyama turns around. In his hands are two bags of chips and two bottles of water. 

“Yes,” he says stiffly, and she nods, buries her face in her book, too close for her to actually be reading. Kageyama tosses a bottle to Hinata, and stars to walk back out of the kitchen. Only when Hinata is passing right by her does Hinata notice the smile she is trying to hide, so wide it looks like it hurts. Hinata skips a little to walk right behind Kageyama, and as he leads the way up the stairs, he holds the two bags of chips over his shoulder. “Which one?”

Hinata jumps up and grabs one out of Kageyama's grasp right as he stops in front of one door. There's nothing special about the door, no indication that the room belongs to Kageyama. Hinata is used to seeing the taped up drawings and homemade signs, ones that shout no sisters allowed and pictures of music notes and symbols that look pretty but have no name to him. Kageyama's door is just a blank white, and Hinata thinks that maybe he’ll give Kageyama a poster of a pretty music symbol to make his door unique.

Kageyama’s room, like the rest of the house, is tidy and spotless, everything in its place. Hinata thinks of his room, the small space cramped with books and other things, his childhood artwork plastered to the walls to accompany the worn out posters of musicians and video games. It makes Hinata feel weird, to see where someone like Kageyama spends his time, and he thinks that maybe he’ll clean his room a bit when he gets home.

“Your mom didn't know I was coming over?” Hinata asks. He looks at Kageyama, who is standing in front of his bed, watches as Kageyama turns the side of his face away from Hinata so he can't see him at all.

“She's not my mom,” Kageyama says slowly.

“Oh.” 

From under his bed, Kageyama pulls out a small table and then settles himself on the floor, pulling his schoolbag up right beside him and fishing out his homework. Hinata stands there awkwardly, breath caught in his throat until Kageyama looks up at him.

“Are you going to sit?” he asks, and Hinata straightens up a little before dropping to his knees and kneeling across from Kageyama. He wants to apologize, but he doesn't even know what he’s apologizing for. Is she his dad's girlfriend? A step-mom? A crazy aunt that Kageyama hates?

“Stop, Hinata," Kageyama says. He reaches over and pokes the wrinkles knitted between Hinata's eyebrows. "She’s been my nanny since my mom died, and she thinks I don't have any friends, so seeing you makes her really happy,” Kageyama says. His nose is buried in a notebook, so Hinata can't really see his face and expression when he talks about his mom, and Hinata didn't even know she was... not living, anymore. Hinata exhales a steady stream of air, and racks his brain for the right words, because Kageyama probably hates him, or is really sad, because _of course_ , the first day Hinata goes over to his house, he brings up Kageyama's mom, who he just learned is _dead_. Great job, Hinata, fucking superb friend skills. Splendid.

“I'm sorry, of I made you uncomfortable, or anything, but if you ever want to talk about it, or something- not that you have to, or like I want to know- I mean, I _do_ want to know, but only if _you_ want me to know-”

“Hinata. Homework,” Kageyama demands, and Hinata shuts his mouth and buries his burning face into his hands before reaching for his backpack.

He has homework too, stupid homework, like reviewing algebra formulas and memorizing English vocabulary. He doesn’t want to do either of those things, so instead, he fishes out a book that his literature class is supposed to have finished by now. It’s not a bad book, not really, but Hinata is a slow reader, so it takes him a little more time to finish reading assignments. He looks at Kageyama, who is scribbling down figures on a notepad, and when Kageyama looks up and catches Hinata staring, Hinata holds out his water bottle and pretends it was because he needs to ask Kageyama to open it. 

Five minutes pass full of the sound of turning pages and the crinkling of chip bags before Kageyama is closing his notebook and pressing his forehead against the small table.

“Forget homework, let’s talk about music,” he grumbles, and Hinata slams his book shut as if he’s been waiting for Kageyama to say that. Kageyama gets up, and Hinata starts to get up too, but Kageyama gently shoves his head back and explains, “I'm just getting a music composition book so I can teach you about reading notes.”

“Are we gonna play later, too?” Hinata asks. He watches as Kageyama inspects a shelf, skimming his fingers across the spines of books and binders until he finally pulls one out and throws it on the table in front of Hinata. Then, he walks over and nudges Hinata’s thigh with his foot.

“We are gonna play, but I have to teach you some basics first. Scoot over,” he says, and Hinata obliges. 

The table is small and barely fit both of them with their homework to begin with, so with Kageyama taking up most of the room and hunching over the notebook, Hinata has to press his head over Kageyama’s shoulder to see what he writes. His cheek brushes against Kageyama’s neck, and he takes the sign, scooting over slightly so Hinata is leaning a little on his side.

“Do you know what this is?” Kageyama asks, pointing to some weird swirly drawing that crosses all the bars, and Hinata shakes his head. “It's the treble clef, but there’s also bass clef.” Kageyama draws another symbol, this one on the lower set of bars and labels them both. “What clef you see determines how you should read the notes. On the treble clef, the notes on the lines from bottom to top are E, G, B, D, and F.” He writes the notes in the margin right beside it’s designated line.

“How am I supposed to remember that?” Hinata groans. 

“There are little sayings. My old tutor taught me this one: Every Good Boy Deserves Fries. Every beginning letter is the note on a line,” Kageyama says, and Hinata smiles.

“Ah, okay. What about the ones in the spaces?”

“Easy. From the bottom to the top they spell out the word face. It's also just the notes in between, you know?”

“Yeah, okay,” Hinata says, and he leans over Kageyama’s shoulder as he labels each note in the margin. His breath brushes against Kageyama’s neck, all warm and a little wet, and Kageyama knows he should be grossed out, but for some reason, his stomach tightens up. He scoots a little away.

“Right after the clef is the key signature. This is where you find out whether some notes are flat or natural. The key signature is important, so you have to pay attention to it,” Kageyama continues, and he taps his pen cap to the flat signs that rest on some of the lines and spaces. Unlike he’s supposed to, Hinata doesn't look at where Kageyama points. Instead, he looks at Kageyama, eyes wide and unblinking, as if he is something Hinata’s trying to understand, something that he isn't quite used to. It's a little weird, with Hinata just looking at him, but Kageyama continues, talking about the signs for a flat or natural, and then about the time signature until he stops because Hinata doesn't seem to be paying attention, and it's pissing him off.

“Are you listening? I'd rather be playing too, but you have to learn how to read music,” Kageyama says, and he reaches out to tug on Hinata’s hair, fingers slipping through and pushing against his scalp, when Hinata leans into his hand, pressing against it and letting out a sigh so soft that Kageyama isn't even sure he heard it.

Except he is sure because his ears hear a lot, and he knows Hinata sighed and he doesn't know why that little fact makes his heartbeat erratic but it does, and he just pushes down all the weird feelings. All he can think about is how soft Hinata’s hair is, and that his shampoo must be strawberries, or something because suddenly that's all he can smell. He forces those thoughts out of his head.

His hand is still in Hinata’s hair, and Hinata finally stops looking at him and turns his attention at the sheet of music between them.

“I like it when you talk, but this is boring. No offense,” he adds quickly, and Kageyama just swallows.

“How about we clap rhythms then?” He asks. His voice is a little weird, so he coughs to clear his throat, and he removes his hand from Hinata’s hair. “You know the number of counts each note gets, right?”

Hinata just stares, and all the weird thoughts and feelings instantly and instead of being replaced by thoughts of the future of their practice sessions, and the fact that almost none of them contain actually playing.

\---

Hinata’s hands hurt.

It's been an hour. An hour of clapping notes that Kageyama scribbled onto the music composition paper. An hour of Kageyama writing down on his music and explaining which notes are which, what each line’s corresponding sound is so Hinata can lift his violin and try it. He now has a name for each position of his fingers pressing on the strings. He now knows what he plays in the fourth measure of the audition piece are triplets and how the long one he holds out in the violin solo is called a whole note. His head is pounding from the new knowledge, but he loves it. 

Still, it doesn't stop his hands from being red and sore, fingertip calluses dry and cracking.

Kageyama shakes his head when he sees Hinata’s hands, getting up from where they sit next to each other and getting a small bottle of lotion from the bathroom across from his bedroom.

“You have to take care of your hands. What if you get blisters that bleed on stage?” He asks while Hinata rubs his hands together. He would probably throw up, but Hinata doesn't say that in front of Kageyama. Blood makes him squeamish.

“Can we play now?” He says instead, and Kageyama nods. It's getting late, darkness already leaking into the sky, and when Kageyama opens the door to the room where the grand piano is. There's another music stand right beside it, and Hinata smiles wide at the thought of Kageyama getting everything set up for them to play.

“We should try sight reading,” Kageyama says, and Hinata shrugs, says that sounds fine, but he knows that sight reading isn't gonna go well, and it isn't long until he’s pouring out music all on his own, not paying any mind to the beginners book Kageyama placed in front of him. He has names to the techniques he does, knows that the melody he plays is adagio, slow and makes him feel as if something is being pulled out of him. It's weird, how this works. It's like Kageyama’s accompaniment is a hook through his body, and it's tugging everything out, pulling out that same melody that Hinata has always been trying to create. He feels the connection, or the start of one, at least, and it is a raw feeling that makes him play that much better.

The cadence of the song is light and lingering, and Hinata finally opens his eyes. Kageyama is watching him- has probably been watching him this entire time, Hinata realizes- and Hinata just watches him back.

“That was good,” Kageyama finally says, and Hinata grins.

“Was it? It felt good- no, it felt amazing, like everything was just being pulled out and it was just- _guahhh_ -” Hinata knows these aren't real words, but he thinks Kageyama gets it, because he nods and Hinata finds himself stuck watching the little smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth, which just makes Hinata even happier.

“Do you know what you’re doing for your solo audition?” Kageyama asks, and Hinata shakes his head.

“Not yet, do you?” 

Kageyama freezes a little bit but slowly shakes his head.

“Actually, I was kind of thinking, maybe I shouldn’t try out for the Orchestra. I’ll audition with you, of course, for your accompaniment, but I just don’t think-” _I’m good enough_ , Kageyama wants to finish, but he doesn’t have the words. Because that’s not all of it, there’s more, so much more behind a wall that he can’t break through. He isn’t good enough because he isn’t meant to play with others. He only pushes people away and yells when they don’t get it right, and Hinata is an exception because he’s _Hinata_ , he’s-

“Stop that.” There’s a hand in his vision, small and reflecting pink from the sun starting to set outside. Hinata looks down at him, and his thumb smoothes gently over the creases between Kageyama’s brows. “You aren’t meant for thinking hard. I’m getting exhausted just watching you do it.” Kageyama narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything. Hinata smiles and lowers his hand.

“I don’t think they would want me to be there,” Kageyama finally says, and Hinata’s expression changes to one of confusion.

“But _I_ want you there with me, Kageyama,” he says. His words strike Kageyama somewhere deep in his chest, words burning inside his head.

(He’s wanted, he’s _wanted_ )

“As long as you play with me, we are untouchable, _invincible_ ,” Hinata continues, and he takes Kageyama’s wrist and positions it over the piano, pressing his fingers down on a few of the keys. The sound isn’t perfect, but it seems to please Hinata nonetheless. “As long as you keep playing, I will remain standing next to you.”

It hurts. Hinata’s words make his heart float in his chest, and his lungs are squeezing the air out of his lungs. He can’t breathe with Hinata watching him, and he’s trying to push that burning sensation away from his eyes because he _refuses_ to cry in front of Hinata over something as stupid as a declaration of partnership.

(Kageyama doesn't even know if that's the right word because he doesn't know if other partners or teammates say that, but he isn't sure if friends say that stuff either.)

“Okay,” Kageyama finally manages to say, and Hinata smiles so wide, it’s like the sun hasn’t really set.

“You promise me?” Hinata asks, and Kageyama nods. “Pinky promise?” Hinata adds, and he holds his pinkie finger up in front of Kageyama’s eyes.

“I pinky promise,” Kageyama answers, and when he links his finger with Hinata’s, it’s like something in his chest resets.

\---

“So, your new friend seems nice.”

Kageyama looks at Nao, who is obviously hiding her grin behind her cup. His father looks dazed and confused at the words and turns to Kageyama.

“He’s not my friend,” Kageyama says, and Nao looks at him.

“He’s been over to this house every day this past week. He’s obviously _something_ ,” she points out, and Kageyama glares at her.

“Who is he?” Kageyama’s father asks, and Nao just shrugs and gives Kageyama a pointed look.

“His name is Hinata Shouyou, and he is not my friend. I’m tutoring him,” Kageyama says. It’s silent for a few seconds, and his father just stares at him in disbelief, and Kageyama elaborates. “In music,” Kageyama grumbles, “I’m teaching him how to read music.”

“That makes more sense. I don’t think it’s smart to tutor anyone with your scores,” His father chuckles, and Kageyama just sighs. “Not that it matters, of course. Things like math and science are temporary, but music lives on. It’s good you’re teaching someone who wants to learn.”

Kageyama nods. He’s tired, brain still pulsing from having to deal with Hinata’s stupidity for hours, and he wants to go to bed. He likes talking with his father, he loves it, but it’s too hard. He doesn’t want to answer the questions that he knows will come, doesn’t want to fall into the discussion of music programs and teachers and recitals and transferring to different schools. He doesn’t want his father to ask about other friends and feelings and a possibility of therapy, because _you know what, son, you don’t seem all that happy anymore, and your mother wouldn’t want that for you_.

He just wants everything to remain as it is.

So he’s surprised he doesn’t drop the plates he has in his hands when Nao adds in, “They play beautifully together, too.”

It’s quiet, and from where his back is turned, Kageyama can feel his father looking at him, so much that the hair on the back of his neck rises and his mouth gets too dry. He can’t move, even though he’s screaming at his feet to escape to the kitchen and put the dishes away and then run out of the house. There’s awkwardness to the silence, only interrupted with the soft thump of a glass being placed on the table, and then Kageyama breathes in a shaky breath.

“You play with him?” Kageyama’s father asks.

“Sometimes,” Kageyama finally manages. His knees are a bit wobbly and he’s finally gotten them to move, but he stays put.

“Do you enjoy playing with him?”

Kageyama thinks. He thinks of the way his heart beats a little too fast whenever he watches Hinata play, how he can recognize him in their orchestra class right away, how even with thirty other violinists playing and pouring their heart out into each song, the only one he can really pay attention to is Hinata. Kageyama thinks of how every morning there is a reminder on his phone from Hinata, a message with too many emoticons and misspellings and bad grammar that tells him where to meet him, and how seeing his smile in the morning makes him think that getting up half an hour early and braving the bitter cold walk to school is worth it.

He thinks of the feeling he got when he and Hinata first played together, how it almost drove him to tears. He thinks of the feeling he gets when he and Hinata play now, all improvised and unprepared, and how every drag of Hinata’s bow against his violin is a pull on Kageyama’s heart.

“Yeah,” Kageyama answers, and he looks at his father. “I love it.”

\---

Having Hinata in his house is normal.

It's a routine: School, practice in the morning, orchestra third period, and then a walk to Kageyama’s home and an occasional stop at the convenience store for a meat bun or popsicle. At first, it was weird, because Nao was always staring at them- more specifically staring at Hinata as if he was the most extraordinary thing she’s ever seen- until Kageyama gave her a look that he hoped came across as _why are you here please leave us alone you’re freaking him out_.

It must work, though, because all she does is smile and walk back into the kitchen, and Hinata just grins and goes back to labeling notes and positions that Kageyama writes down for him.

So yes, Hinata becomes a regular in Kageyama’s home, but he usually leaves before dinner, and Kageyama is fine with it, really, because he doesn’t think he wants Hinata to meet his dad. Not after that night last week. He knows his father wants to see Hinata for himself, even more desperately wants to hear them play, but he can’t do that to him again. He can’t get his father’s hopes up, only to crush them again when Hinata to eventually leaves Kageyama behind.

He just doesn’t want to repeat last year.

“Hey, Bakageyama, I don’t know what this is,” Hinata says. The eraser of his pencil pokes into Kageyama’s cheek, and Kageyama shrugs him off and focuses on the paper. “Why is there a hashtag in front of it?”

Kageyama sighs and says, “It’s not a hashtag. It’s a sharp sign. It means the note is the same but it’s only a half step up.” Hinata just tilts his head and stares blankly at him, and Kageyama sighs and draws a few lines. “Alright, well you know the pitch of the note is basically the sound. Seeing a note with a… hashtag in front of it means it's sharp. Basically, the pitch is a bit different than the natural pitch of the note.”

“And that's a half step?” 

“Yeah, a whole step would be from G to A, while a half step would be from G-sharp to A. It's like there's another area in between the spaces and the lines. Every half step is half of a whole tone. Do you get it now?” Kageyama asks, and Hinata nods. “I can show you, too. The sharp and flat keys are all the black keys of the piano,” Kageyama continues.

Hinata goes back to labeling notes, and Kageyama watches over Hinata’s shoulder. He convinces himself it's because he wants to help Hinata when he sees him hesitate, or when he scribbles the wrong note name, but he knows it's a lie because he isn't paying much attention to what Hinata is writing. He focuses on Hinata himself, let's his eyes follow the curve of his nose, how it scrunches up whenever he doesn't know the note right away. He watches Hinata’s eyes, how his pupils dilate and focus as he reads and learns, watches his hands and fingers and how delicate they are, small but strong and brilliant. Hinata plays with those hands, Kageyama realizes, he plays and makes music just like Kageyama, and it all comes from him and his stupidly brilliant brain and leaves through his hands.

(Maybe he could hold them, see if he can feel the music roll off his fingertips as he folds them with his own, close his eyes and press his hand to his heart and make music of his own.)

(Kageyama briefly wonders if these thoughts could be considered normal.)

When Hinata is finally done, Kageyama skims over the paper and then nods. Hinata’s handwriting is horrible, but overall he did well and has gotten most of them right, and Kageyama can't help the little smile that pulls at the corners of his mouth.

“Good, you're learning,” Kageyama says. Hinata preens, chest puffing out with the big breath he always takes when Kageyama compliments him, and Kageyama watches his toes curl and entire body seize up in excitement.

“I’m getting better, right? I mean it’s only been a week, but I practice at home, kind of, after I play for a little bit. I’m even starting to sight read a little in class!” Hinata babbles, and Kageyama just listens and nods. Hinata rants for a little until he’s out of breath and he looks at his phone and gasps a little. “Crap, I have to go now. Can you walk me to the door?”

It shouldn’t even be a question because Hinata doesn’t bother waiting for an answer. He gets up and bends down, offering Kageyama his hand and pulling him up. He stumbles back a little when Kageyama finally stands up, and Kageyama twists his hand and grabs Hinata’s wrist to steady him. Beneath his fingertips, he can feel Hinata’s pulse, fast and pressing hard against his skin. Hinata coughs a little and Kageyama trains his eyes on Hinata’s face. He steps a little away and turns his head.

“You okay?” Kageyama asks, and Hinata’s eyes widen.

“Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine, totally okay,” he exclaims, picking up his bag and swinging it over his shoulder.

“I'll walk you out, then.”

Usually, Hinata talks until Kageyama can't hold the front door open any longer, cold air making goosebumps rise on his arms and bare feet curl into the rug. Now, Hinata doesn't speak at all. Even his breathing is quiet, and the creaking of the wood behind him is the only indication that Hinata is still behind him.

When he opens the door, the wave of cold air that hits him is enough to make him regret not putting on a sweatshirt before he came downstairs. Hinata pushes his feet into his shoes without bothering to untie the laces, looping a scarf that's almost the length of him around his neck over and over until it covers his mouth when he hikes his shoulders up to brace the cold. He looks at Kageyama for a second before bending down and grabbing his violin case, turning to walk out the door. Kageyama is too stunned and confused to even speak.

“Bye, Hinata,” he manages, and Hinata nods, walks down the stairs and jumps over the last two like he always does, and then Kageyama is watching his back as he walks down the road until he has to close the door. Even with the door locked and knowing Hinata is probably turning to corner down the country road to get to his own house, Kageyama stares at the door. He doesn't know why Hinata was weird towards the end of their day, why he looked like he was thinking too hard whenever Kageyama caught him staring at him.

 _It’s too late to worry_ , he thinks, and he bumps his forehead against the wood of the door before pivoting around.

Kageyama has barely turned around from the closed door when there’s a hurried knock. He sighs, and turns around and opens the door.

“Tell me what you forgot, I’ll go grab it for you-”

“I want you to come to my sister's recital!” Hinata says, but it’s really almost a shout. Kageyama must look confused because Hinata goes bright red and keeps talking. “It’s her first year in band, and she’s the only girl percussionist. It isn’t even a long event, just a song or two, and it’s at the elementary school, but my mom could drive us. If you can’t come it’s alright, I just knew it’d be boring and my mom said I could bring a friend over, and I just thought of you and thought that it’d be fun, and you could even spend the night at my house after if you wanted to, but if you don’t want to because I understand it might be boring and-”

“Hinata,” Kageyama says, and Hinata sucks in a huge breath of air. 

“Yeah?”

“I want to come,” Kageyama says. The grin that spreads across Hinata’s face is blinding, bright and warm, and he jumps up and yells a whole bunch of weird noises that he guesses are ones of excitement.

“Awesome! It’s this Friday, and you don’t have to wear anything fancy because it’s casual, but I'll text you about it!” He jumps up in the air and bounces up on the balls of his feet, and then he's lunging forward and crashing into Kageyama. Hinata's arms wrap tightly around his middle, and Kageyama breathes in deep, smells what must be Hinata's shampoo or something. His hair tickles Kageyama's neck, and when even though the hug lasts for nothing more than five seconds, it feels like time has slowed and every second drags on.

“Sorry, I’m just excited,” Hinata says when he practically shoves himself away. Kageyama just nods, and Hinata picks up his violin case from where it lays by his feet and steps back a little. “Okay! I'll see you tomorrow, or something.”

Kageyama watches him leave (again), but he barely feels the cold air sinking into him now. Instead, there's a light feeling in his chest that's warming him up, and when he finally does close the door, he leans his forehead against the wood and smiles.

\---

For Hinata, the week goes by quickly, and before he knows it, he is rushing to clean his room and throw all his dirty clothes in the hamper minutes after Kageyama texted him that he was ten minutes away. He isn't even _dressed_ yet, still wearing an old shirt that's a little too small on him and sweatpants that are too long at the bottom and have to be rolled down at his waist so they fit okay. He looks like a mess, hair unkempt and he needs to shower too, but it might be too awkward with Kageyama at his house for the first time to just leaving him alone for thirty minutes while he showers. It's weird, how Hinata has grown so comfortable with Kageyama’s house over the past month, and Kageyama is only now stepping inside of his own home.

The doorbell rings, his phone chimes, and Hinata’s stomach drops to his feet.

After grabbing the last small pile of clothes and throwing it in the laundry basket, Hinata walks to the door. He looks through the little peephole, snickering a little when he sees how awkward Kageyama looks, face all scrunched up and glaring at his phone as if it did something to personally offend him. Hinata sighs and lowers himself down from his tiptoes, swinging the door open and grinning when Kageyama jumps a little. 

Until he takes what Kageyama is wearing, at least.

Hinata has seen Kageyama in nice clothes, Karasuno has a school uniform, which is black slacks with a cool jacket to match, but that's normal for everyone. When Hinata goes over his house to play with him or learn, Kageyama is always in more comfortable clothing, and Hinata usually brings an extra pair of clothing so he can change and not get his school clothes dirty.

Now, though, Kageyama is wearing _nice_ clothing, jeans that fit him really well with a light blue button down shirt tucked in, and he has an overnight bag slung over his shoulder. Hinata stares, blinks and tries to clear his head, but all he can think about it how messy and gross he is and how nice Kageyama looks.

“You're wearing that?” Hinata asks, and Kageyama’s eyes widen.

“You're wearing _that_? I thought it was a concert!”

“Yeah, for an _elementary school_ ,” Hinata emphasizes, and Kageyama shrugs.

“Whatever, at least I don't look like a slob.” He gives Hinata a pointed look, and Hinata gapes.

“I'm not even ready yet! Give me five minutes!”

He runs to his room, leaving Kageyama on the doorstep. On his bed, he had laid out jeans and a sweatshirt, but he pushes the sweatshirt away and just slips on the jeans, bends down and rolls them up so they don't wrinkle at the bottom. In his wardrobe, there are a few sweaters, but most of them are worn and second hand, with holes in the sleeves that Hinata has only made bigger throughout the years. Other than that, the only fancy shirt he has is too small on him, and he isn't about to dig out the flannel from the bottom of the hamper. With a sigh, Hinata just pulls on a plain white shirt and ties a black hoodie around his waist.

When he leaves his room, Kageyama is still standing where he was on Hinata’s doorstep, hands pushed deep into his front pockets and feet gently kicking the wooden frame of the door. Hinata stops and observes, smiles as he hears Kageyama start to hum to himself as he scuffs his shoe to his own tempo, and clears his throat a bit to catch his attention.

“You could have come in, you know. Now you’re just letting all the heat out!” Hinata scolds. He drags Kageyama inside by the arm, slamming the door shut behind him. “Heat is expensive, stupid!”

“You should have invited me in, then,” Kageyama says, and Hinata just sticks his nose in the air and gives a sharp exhale in response and walks to his room. He can see Kageyama sulk in the corner of his eye, but he still follows Hinata, eyes scanning the walls that are completely covered in old artwork, blurry pictures, horribly written poems. Anything Hinata or his younger sister did in school or drew when they were bored, is somewhere in the house. Granted, Hinata’s precious little kid artwork is slowly being overtaken by the mass amounts of drawings that Natsu produces every day, but it’s alright because he’d rather have his embarrassing drawings hidden anyways.

Even the doors are covered, and Hinata’s is the one mural he is particularly proud of. There, taped on top of each other, is every piece of music he has learned. He doesn’t need the music sheets anyways, but they are pretty, so once he listens and learns a new music composition, he just pastes it on top of his door. Now that he’s actually trying to read music, though, it’s kinda awkward to cramp himself in the small hallways while he angles his head and body hard enough the try to read and play at the same time.

“Nice door,” Kageyama says, and it sarcastic, but when Hinata looks at him to call him out on being a jerk, he actually looks impressed. Instead of fighting with him, Hinata smiles. He can’t help the feeling of giddiness that arises inside of him, bringing with it an excess amount of energy that makes him hide the huge grin that spreads across his face by covering his mouth, and he tries to shove it back down to wherever it came from. To distract himself, he just pushes open his bedroom door. It’s messy again from him digging through his wardrobe, and the clothes he was wearing before are dirty and slumped over the back of a chair. 

“We have an hour to spare,” Hinata notes. Kageyama places his bag down by the foot of the bed before sitting on it. The bed frame creaks awkwardly underneath him. It looks strangely normal, seeing Kageyama seated on his bed in his bedroom, no one else in the house but them. Natsu had to be at the school an hour earlier, and Hinata doesn't doubt that she wanted to drag their mother around and introduce her to all her friends, so it'll probably be awhile before they have to leave. Which is a shame, because Hinata had wanted to show Kageyama around his old middle school band room, the old storage closet that he would practice in during lunchtime and the band teacher who would always write Hinata late passes to class when he didn't hear the bell ring.

Instead, he has to deal with the awkwardness of having Kageyama in his room. He doesn't have a piano in his house, so they can't play, and he _really_ doesn't want to have Kageyama sit down and teach him any more music stuff, cause he already has a headache, and he doesn't want to put himself through the pain of learning right now. He doesn’t have a video gaming system, not counting the old red DS that is charging by his bed, and it’s embarrassing, to be completely honest, because at Kageyama’s house there’s always something to do, movies and video games and music, but Hinata isn’t that rich and most of his money has gone to keeping his violin in good condition, buying better bows and strings. He still tunes the instruments at the shop, but he only has to tune them one a week, really, and the money he does get goes towards school books and lunch money.

“So,” Kageyama says, but he doesn’t follow up with anything. Hinata sits on the bed beside him, twists his mouth as he racks his brain for anything they can talk about it. They’ve been friends for an _entire school semester_ , it shouldn’t be like this.

“So,” Hinata adds, and when Kageyama just glares at him, he laughs. “Why don’t you test me on musical terms, like the vocabulary that I don’t even need to know.”

“You _do_ need to know it, and I will test you on it, sure.” Kageyama hums in thought, and Hinata readjusts on the bed, laying down on his side with his legs dangling over Kageyama’s knees, head sinking into his pillow. “I’ll start with an easy one, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“ _Accelerando_ ,” Kageyama says, and Hinata closes his eyes.

“When the tempo gets quicker over time,” he finally answers.

“Right. How about _glissando_?”

Somewhere along the way, the words mush together, meaningless definitions and slurred syllables that he can’t make sense of, and Hinata can feel his eyes getting heavier. By now, Kageyama’s hand has wrapped around his ankle, usually to pinch him whenever he gets a question wrong, but now Hinata can feel nails gently running up and down his skin, and he can’t convince himself to open his eyes and wake up, because, in all honesty, Hinata would much rather remain here, legs dangling over Kageyama’s, with his head in his pillow and a blanket being draped over him.

\---

When Hinata sleeps, he snores.

Not real snoring, nothing like the deep rumble that forms in the chest and leaves like thunder like the kind of snoring Kageyama’s father has, but more like a soft whistle of a breath, a little sigh of an exhale that makes Kageyama question if it can even be called snoring.

But the real point is that Hinata is sleeping and snoring (or whatever those noises are), and half his body is on top of Kageyama’s, so he is stuck seated on the edge of Hinata’s bed, reaching over for a blanket to put on top of him. He’s half leaning over him, putting most of his weight on one arm that supports him, and looking right down at Hinata’s. For once, he looks calm, not loud or screaming or bouncing around with energy. His hair is as messy as ever, but somehow Hinata sleeping makes every wild part of him look tranquil, and Kageyama has a sudden urge to run his fingers through Hinata’s hair and push it out of the way, which is weird because Hinata probably didn’t even shower this morning, and the least thing Kageyama should want to do is run his hands through gross hair, but that’s _exactly_ what he wants to do right now, and his other hand is lifting from Hinata’s ankle and reaching forward and doing exactly that before he can stop himself.

Hinata’s hair is soft, and with it out of his face, Kageyama can see how his eyelashes are a little darker than his hair color, casting long shadows over his cheekbones, how his eyebrows knit together like they do when Kageyama explains something to him. Hinata looks strangely nice, but nice isn’t even the right word. He looks like everything he usually isn’t, frozen and really pretty, with lips red and a bit swollen from how he bites and licks them when he sleeps, and Kageyama has this urge to lean down and look at him closer, maybe rest his forehead on Hinata’s, feel the press of his skin against his own, and press his lips against the tip of Hinata’s nose, and these are thoughts that he should _definitely_ not be having.

From somewhere in the house, a door clicks open, and Kageyama raises himself back up, the bed creaking with the adjustment of his weight, and he can’t help the rigid posture that he holds when footsteps come scrambling up to Hinata’s door.

“Shouyou, is your friend here? Do I need to pick him up? Why didn’t you answer your phone when I called-”

The door opens, and a small woman, who Kageyama assumes is Hinata’s mom, stands in the doorway. Her eyes widen a little when she sees Kageyama, and he thinks that it must look strange to see your son draped over a boy you’ve never even seen before. But she smiles, waves and walks into the room and only sighs when she sees Hinata. Without warning, she pulls the pillow from under his head and tosses it to the floor before grabbing Hinata’s shoulders and shaking him awake.

“Wake up, lazy, your sister is waiting for you!” She announces, and Hinata scrambles up, feet kicking from where they were in Kageyama’s lap and barely missing his crotch. Kageyama yells and shoves Hinata’s feet off of him.

“Be careful!” 

“Shut up, stupid Kageyama! Why’d you let me sleep?”

“Shouyou, don’t yell!” Hinata pouts when his mother scolds him, and quickly jumps up, brushing his hands over his shirt and rubbing his eyes.

“Sorry.”

“I’ll be in the car. Bring the flowers, too!”

Hinata’s mother leaves in a hurry, and Kageyama is left with his legs that are tingling from being motionless for so long, with Hinata glaring at him and rubbing at the imprint that a wrinkle in his pillowcase left on his cheek. He looks nice again, and Kageyama’s heart is pounding in his chest with how intensely Hinata is looking at him, so he knots his hands together and stares into his lap.

“You should have woken me up,” Hinata says eventually, and Kageyama sighs.

“You looked tired, so I just figured I’d let you sleep,” he says, and Hinata hums. The wood creaks and Kageyama can see Hinata standing right in front of him from how his feet stop right in his line of vision, mismatched socks too bright and one of his toes peeking through a hole in the fabric and curling into the floor.

“I forgive you,” Hinata says, and Kageyama rolls his eyes before standing up. Hinata doesn't move back, and Kageyama is close to him, really close, knees brushing against Hinata’s, thighs pressing together. 

“I don't need to be forgiven for letting you sleep,” Kageyama argues, and he tries not to let the closeness bother him, but it is for some reason, messing with his heart and making his hands get all sweaty. He wipes them on the sides of his jeans before nudging Hinata out of the way.

“Don't push me, Bakageyama!”

In the car, Hinata and Kageyama sit in the back, where Hinata argues with his mom about removing the booster seat so he can sit, and where his mother shuts him down in a minute. So Kageyama watches with his smile hidden behind his hand as Hinata sits on the booster seat, struggling to buckle up until he glares at Kageyama enough to make him reach over the small bouquet of flowers that rests on the middle seat between them and help Hinata pull the belt over his chest before clicking it in place. 

Other than that, the ride is peaceful. Hinata’s mother asks him a lot of questions, but Kageyama likes answering them, doesn't find them the slightest bit annoying, even though Hinata looks at him and mouths _sorry_ every time Kageyama looks over at him. He likes talking about the piano and telling Hinata’s mom embarrassing things that Hinata does in their orchestra class (his favorite being the time when Hinata was so into playing that he rammed his elbow into the violinist next to him, causing a whole domino effect that left the entire second row of stands on the floor, and one kid with a black eye and bruised knee from falling to the ground). He likes Hinata’s mother’s laugh, and he likes how she reminds him of Hinata, except a better version, obviously. She picks fights with her son over nothing, and always wins, and although her hair is a dark brown, rather than the fiery hair Hinata’s hair is, Kageyama can still see the resemblance in the way the corners of her eyes crinkle when she smiles or laughs, in the way her eyes are big and a pretty light brown. She's pretty, has the type of beauty that is only truly captured in a mother, and Kageyama feels relaxed with her, a sense of calm that he only sometimes gets with Nao, a sense that he couldn't remember feeling this vividly since his mother died.

“We’re here! Now Shouyou, I really need you to try to contain yourself. There's no need to repeat what happened last time, especially with your friend over,” Hinata’s mother says, but Kageyama doesn't think Hinata even hears her over the sound of him scrambling out of the booster seat with the flowers in hand and slamming the car door shut. Kageyama exits after him, walking with Hinata’s mother as they dodge other parents and grandparents and family friends and everyone who might want to see the elementary school concert, always following the blur of bright red hair that appears in front of them every so often. They also follow the hundred of _sorrys_ and _pardon me’s_ that trail behind Hinata as he pushes his way to the front doors, and Kageyama sighs as Hinata almost topples over an old lady, gasping in shock and holding the door open for her before he ducks under another man's arm to get inside. 

It takes five minutes, but Kageyama and Hinata’s mother do eventually make it inside. Hinata is waiting for them, leaning against a wall with the flowers leaning laying on the floor by hs feet. 

“What took you so long?” Hinata asks, and Kageyama growls. Hinata’s mother says she’s going to grab them seats and takes Kageyama’s coat to lay on a chair to save it for him so Hinata can show him around the school. Kageyama thanks her, and then turns around just in time so see Hinata disappearing down a corridor.

“Hinata, wait!” He calls. He sprints down the hallway, sliding to turn the corner. Something pulls his arm, and Kageyama can feel gravity pushing him down as he’s tugged back, feet slipping from beneath him so he lands on his back on the ground.

Except he’s not on the ground, and his head and shoulders are resting on something softer, something moving up and down in a weird jumpy motion. Kageyama tilts his head and groans when he sees squinted brown eyes. It’s Hinata, who is covering his mouth and trying not to laugh, but failing miserably. Kageyama’s eyes can only really focus on Hinata’s eyelashes, how they flutter with each little inhale of a laugh he takes, how his eyes open slowly after he’s done laughing. Kageyama’s head sinks into Hinata’s stomach, and he finally speaks while Hinata catches his breath.

“Why’d you trip me?”

“I didn’t mean to! I only wanted to scare you, but you were gonna run right past me, so I figured I’d grab you. You know, to scare you,” Hinata explains. Kageyama sighs and gets up, holding out his hand for Hinata to grab. Hinata takes it, and Kageyama pulls him up, maybe a little too hard, because Hinata bumps against him when he stands up, nose bumping into Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama quickly steps away.

“Sorry,” he says, although he isn’t even sure what he’s apologizing for because it’s Hinata’s fault that they fell down in the first place, and Hinata bumping into his shoulder probably didn’t hurt as much as Kageyama’s tailbone slamming into the hard ground.

But it was nice, he guesses, to lay there beside (on top of) Hinata. It was relaxing, oddly enough, and he likes the feeling that came with it, the sense of calm that released all previous tension he had, and even thinking about it gives him that same feeling, but he has to stop as they turn another corner because he can feel his face heating up, and he doesn’t want to be all flustered in front of a bunch of little kids.

The band room is a mess. Actually, the word mess doesn't give it justice. What it really looks like is the product of a bunch of wild animals being released into the room and letting them all run and roam around for a few weeks, then having a giant earthquake hit the center of the room. It's completely ruined, old shelves crammed full of old and new instrument cases, all chairs stacked messily in the corner of the room, and rusty music stands shaky and tossed over one another in a pile. There are small children everywhere, chattering and holding or playing their instruments, some struggling to put them together, others passing around bottles of slide and valve oil. It smells like pizza and sandwiches and juice, and Kageyama lets Hinata squeeze past him to get into the room.

“Natsu? Where are you?” Hinata stands on his toes and looks around, balance shaky as he jumps up and down as he tries to catches sight of her. Kageyama finds himself staring, stuck watching how Hinata wobbles a little while standing on his toes. He’s like a small child, like all the children surrounding them, who haven’t even given them a proper look over. 

“Nii-chan!”

Something small bounds into Hinata, small pale arms reaching to wrap around his waist, and Hinata laughs and lowers himself down from his toes to wrap his arms around them. After a second, Hinata uncurls himself and turns around, smiles at Kageyama and pats his sister on the head as she stares at Kageyama.

“Natsu, this is Kageyama. He’s the grumpy piano guy I told you and mom about,” Hinata says. He looks at Kageyama, probably a queue for him to himself to his little sister, but Kageyama can’t help staring at her, because she looks exactly like Hinata, small with baby fat still on her cheeks, red hair falling out of a poor attempt of a ponytail. There are two ribbons in her hair, one blue and one green, which seems weird to Kageyama, but both colors do look nice with the bright orange of her hair, so he supposes it works, and they also go with the clothes she is wearing, blue overalls over a dark green shirt. Her sneakers, just like Hinata’s, are Converse but are purple instead of yellow.

In conclusion, Natsu is a smaller version of Hinata, and it’s kinda creepy.

“Hi,” Kageyama finally says, and Natsu holds out her hand. Kageyama reaches and grabs it to shake it, which he thinks is a little odd, and Hinata groans.

“Kageyama, drop her hand. Natsu, he’s not some _prince_ , people can’t just kiss your hand when you first meet them! Besides, Kageyama is more of a creepy old villain than a prince in a fairytale,” Hinata says. Natsu frowns.

“But he looks like a prince,” she says. Kageyama balks at Hinata, eyes widening and he looks at Hinata, who is stuttering and tugging her away from Kageyama by her arm.

“Natsu, you can’t just say that!”

While Hinata tugs Natsu away, Kageyama runs a hand over his face and smiles behind his palm. Kids are starting to line up, and from behind Kageyama, a man enters the room. He’s young, shaking a bit as he scans the room and barely acknowledges Kageyama, instead just shifting past him as he does a headcount of kids. At the number thirty, his face goes pale, and he wipes his brow with a handkerchief that he pulls from his pocket.

“Where is Toshiro?” He asks. All the kids speak at once, and he raises his fist until they stop, then points at a little girl who’s putting her flute together. “Yumiko, do you know?”

“Toshi-chan got sick! His mommy told me he’s throwing up and can’t play tonight,” the little girl says. Some kids make gagging noises, and Kageyama watches both Natsu and Hinata scrunch up their noses.

“He was supposed to play accompaniment for the choir. Does anyone else know how to play the piano? Or have a parent that can?” The teacher asks. Little kids shake their head, and the teacher takes out the handkerchief again, obviously growing more frantic by each second passing. In front of him, Hinata looks over his shoulder and meets Kageyama’s eye, raising his eyebrows in a silent plead.

 _No_ , Kageyama thinks, and he shakes his head. Hinata makes the same face again, eyes widening as he tilts his head in the teacher's direction. _No_ , Kageyama mouths, and Hinata sighs.

“Kageyama plays the piano.”

The teacher stops his trembling and stares at Natsu. Hinata is frozen where he is, and Kageyama thinks of bolting out of the room, but it’s too late because Natsu is still talking. “My brother talks about him all the time, and says that Kageyama is the best there is! He can play!”

At this, Kageyama feels two emotions running through him. The first is fear, striking through him the moment Hinata’s little sister points to Kageyama, only growing worse and worse when the teacher jumps over to him, pushing music into his hands and asking, _begging_ practically, for Kageyama to help play for this performance. His mind is numb and his stare is blank as he looks at music that’s so easy he could perform it in his sleep, but the music isn’t the problem, it’s the people, the weight of the teachers dependence on him, the heaviness of stares from the crowd of people he passed through to even get to the band room. He’s afraid of a stupid little kid concert, and he hates how pathetic it is.

The second emotion is weird. It’s something that grows the minute he fully takes in what Natsu said, how Hinata talks about him, says that Kageyama is good, the best there is. It’s the same feeling he gets when he and Hinata match, when he turns around in time to see Hinata's eyes flutter open when he finishes playing, the same rush he experiences whenever Hinata bumps into him when they walk together. It’s a nice warmth, calming even though it feels like his heart spikes up to his throat and then lands somewhere close to his stomach before picking itself back up again. It’s what he felt earlier, watching Hinata fall asleep beside him, the same energy that rushed through him when he rubbed Hinata’s leg, nails skimming over the denim of his jeans and the smooth skin of his ankle.

It is that feeling that only gets amplified when he feels Hinata beside him, feels one of his hands gently touch his elbow, pushing his arm forward to grab the papers. It is that feeling, that jump in his chest and that sink into his stomach, that gets him to nod yes, say of course he will help, he will play, he will _perform_.

“You’ll do great,” Hinata says the minute the teacher starts to line the kids up. “I know you will, and I’ll scream your name when you walk on stage, even if Natsu gets jealous-”

“Do not scream my name,” Kageyama says, and Hinata just grins.

“I’ll think about it. But even if I don't, just know that I'll be there watching you. Along with like sixty other people, of course, but mostly me!”

“Okay,” Kageyama says. Hinata’s hand is still wrapped around his elbow, fingertips prodding into the crook of his arm, and Kageyama doesn't shake him off. He looks at the music and lets Hinata’s hand skip down the length of his arm until he’s gently gripping his wrist.

“Seriously, Kageyama,” Hinata says, “I know you'll do really good.” Right as he says the words, the teacher coughs a little behind them. Hinata lets his hand fall and steps away while looking over his shoulder to smile at the teacher. “All right, I’ll see you on stage! Don’t mess up!” Hinata exclaims, and then he turns and runs out of the room. Kageyama can hear him sprinting down the hallway, small footsteps fading and the faraway sound of chatter from the auditorium.

“I’m sorry about this,” The teacher says. Kageyama shrugs.

“It’s fine, it’s just been a while since I’ve performed.”

“Don’t worry about that. Most of these kids have only been playing for half a year anyways, and I won’t do any crazy tempo changes. Plus, all our music is in common time, and most of them are the basic B-flat scale, so nothing will be that difficult,” he explains as he opens the door to the stage for Kageyama.

It isn’t the music that’s the problem. Not for Kageyama, at least. Music is easy, reading notes is easy once you’ve been doing it for most of your life. The hard part is the connection, the hard part is feeling comfortable with hundreds of eyes on you, the hard part is finding someone to play with that won’t turn their back on you.

That’s the hard part for Kageyama, at least.

When he walks onto the stage, all the kids are already seated, most of them either shuffling through their music folders to pull out their music and others waving and smiling for eager parents with flashing cameras. The lights make is hard to see the specifics of faces in the crowd, but when he sits down at the piano in the corner of the stage, he sees a flash pointed in his direction. There, in the second row on the far right corner of the room, right in front of where Kageyama is, sits Hinata, who is pushing himself against the wall and raising himself up to get pictures of Kageyama.

“Kageyama, don’t look so scary!” Hinata yells.

“I’m don’t look scary!” he snarls.

“ _Uwahh_! You look super scary right now!”

Before Kageyama can yell at Hinata some more or jump out of his seat to hit him upside the head, the auditorium goes silent and the kids sit up straighter, holding their instruments neatly in their laps. Everyone starts clapping when the teacher walks onstage. He grabs a microphone and starts talking, introducing himself and the band, even acknowledging Kageyama and naming him an honored guest. More flashes go off in his direction, and all of them are from Hinata.

For the band performance, Kageyama doesn’t really do much. He plays some things, like an introduction melody that repeats itself throughout the song- carried by the winds for the most part- but other than that, he doesn’t have to put any real effort into his playing. He watches Natsu like he came here to do, smiles a little when she picks up the triangle and taps it with purpose. She runs all over the place, hitting cowbells and crashing symbols and at the end of one song, reels up her arm and slams a mallet loudly against a huge gong. Like Hinata, she puts spirit into everything she plays, even though her part might be small and short-lived.

The band only performs three songs. None of them are exceptional, but given that all the musicians are elementary schoolers, it is pretty good for their level. The choir is setting up and Kageyama is skimming over the music, ignoring Hinata leaning over the first row of chairs- and over the shoulder of some man who looks very displeased with his current position- and his failed attempts at getting Kageyama’s attention. The teacher talks again, and then he likes old at Kageyama, holding up his arms and lifting one hand for the upbeat before bringing it down softly. The moment he raises his hand again, Kageyama plays a small sequence, most of it improvised from glancing at the music only briefly, but it sounds good, really good, actually, and from the audience, he thinks he hears Hinata gasp.

It's a good feeling, and even though his hands are shaking slightly, Kageyama continues to play.

\---

The moment Kageyama’s hands press down on the keys of the piano, it's like Hinata can’t breathe in enough air.

He knows he gasps, loudly enough to draw attention from the people sitting around them, and his mom nudges him with his elbow, whispers for him to be quiet and respectful, but she doesn't know how hard it is to sit still when Kageyama plays. His hands are aching, fingers clenching and twisting and curling into his leg, and he tries to fold his hands together neatly but he just ends up scratching himself when Kageyama plays something so beautiful that he almost jumps out of his seat.

He knows he can only watch, but he so desperately wants to join Kageyama, to play with him and even if it means making everything up, he knows he can do it- he _has_ done it- because playing with Kageyama is one of those things that he doesn't think he’ll ever grow tired of.

He closes his eyes and listens, tuning out the pitchy sounds from the choir and just letting his mind drift with the notes of the piano. He can pick some out, hearing Kageyama play G and F, and although he can't name all of the notes, even recognizing some is enough to make him even happier than he already is because he’s learning, and Kageyama’s lessons and all his practice is worth it.

When the choir is done, the teacher smiles and waits for the applause to die down, and introduces the few soloists that sang, and then turns into the direction of the piano.

“This young man was not prepared but took the task of playing tonight readily. I promised not to introduce him, but I just want to express my gratitude and welcome him to play a solo piece if he wants while the students leave the stage,” he says. Hinata looks at Kageyama, only to find Kageyama is already looking at him. It's a little unnerving, and Hinata doesn't know why Kageyama just won't play, but then he thinks that maybe, just maybe, Kageyama is looking for a bit of support. Hinata nods, and Kageyama turns to the keys and takes a deep [breath](https://soundcloud.com/neet/can-we-stay-like-this-forever).

The notes tear into him. They sink into his skin like needles and break him apart, and he feels completely ravaged after each pause in Kageyama’s playing. People take out their phones and start to record, and Hinata wants to do the same, but he can't really move. Unlike before, where energy was pulsing through him so fast he could barely breathe, now he is so full of air that he doesn't know how to exhale. Watching Kageyama play is as amazing as listening to him, with how he sits up straight and moves, fingers dancing over the keys and foot pressing on the pedal steadily. Sometimes, he leans in when he presses down harder on the keys, completely unlike the rigid piano players Hinata has seen before in videos and movies. Kageyama plays in a way that can only be truly experienced when you see it and take it all in.

His heart seems to sink a little when the song ends. He doesn't know if it's really his heart sinking that is causing that sad pull from somewhere inside of his chest, but it's his best guess, because when Kageyama plays he feels like he’s flying, and when he’s not, Hinata can almost feel a certain despondent feeling seep into him, a superfluous of emotion that he doesn't know where to put.

There's wetness on his cheeks, and Hinata doesn't even know when he started crying, so he laughs. He laughs until he’s sobbing some more, and people are leaving their seats, including his mom, who when reaching for him, he waved her off and says he's okay. The theater is almost empty, and Kageyama is leaning over the first row of chairs and trying to peer down into Hinata’s face. He looks worried, and Hinata only laughs (cries) harder. He doesn’t want Kageyama to see him like this, ugly and snotty with red eyes and with annoying blubbering noises leaving his mouth, but Kageyama just shakes his head and buries his hand in his hair, gently shaking his head around.

“Dumbass, I couldn’t have been _that_ bad,” he mumbles, and Hinata laughs and wipes his eyes.

“Shut up,” Hinata croaks, “This is your fault, with your stupid emotional songs. This is all your fault, and now my nose is all snotty.”

“Gross,” Kageyama says, but he leans over a bit more and uses the sleeve of his sweatshirt to wipe at Hinata’s eyes and under his nose, and it only makes Hinata want to cry harder. He thinks Kageyama must sense it or something, probably because Hinata looks like he’s going to have tears spring from his eyes again any second, because he pulls Hinata up and leads him out of his seat, holding his wrist over the row of chairs to pull him along. They’re five steps away from the aisle, four, and Hinata grabs Kageyama’s hand. He doesn’t mean to or think to, but they’re two steps away from letting go and Hinata feels a squeeze, two steps away and he has to try to breathe through the feelings of his heart jumping up into his throat, sinking to his stomach, pushing to break out of his chest, going every direction at once, and he is one step away and leaving the aisle and expecting to have Kageyama drop his hand, but instead his thumb brushes against Hinata's skin, soothing against the edge of his palm, and Kageyama does not let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the patience on this update! my surgery went really well and i'm feeling better, plus i got four weeks off gym, so i'll just be writing fanfiction in the library everyday xD.
> 
> hmu on tumblr, and comments/kudos are realllly appreciated because that's what keeps me writing and pulls me out of writers block. Also, enjoy this extra long chapter cause i'm trying to make my scenes longer and write more!


	4. half

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s two weeks before Miyagi auditions, and they fight.
> 
> It isn’t a small disagreement, the ones they usually have where they bicker until someone tells them to shut up, or until they have to go their separate ways. This fight is real. It is one where Kageyama’s words are mean and Hinata screams, one that has Kageyama’s fingers digging into the cracks between the keys of his piano, memories pushing at his reality, feeling the edge of year old splinters break into his skin again, and Kageyama can’t take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for angst in this... entire chapter.

When Kageyama grabs Hinata’s hand, he thinks he’s on the edge of figuring something out.

His heart is racing, but he doesn’t know why he’s still nervous from the performance, and his hands are shaking slightly, but Hinata doesn’t seem, and if he does, he doesn't let it show. So he holds on tight, not really sure what to do or if he should say anything or do anything. He just lets their hands stay loose between them, thumb brushing against the edge of Hinata’s palm, tracing the soft skin. When he finally does let go of Hinata’s hand, it's before Hinata has to push open the doors to leave the empty auditorium, and his racing heart and shaking hands slowly go away by the time they make it to the car. Kageyama spends most of the ride nodding and grunting at Hinata’s attempts at conversation that only act as a distraction from him thinking about why nervousness and Hinata seem to be related in his mind.

Hinata shouldn’t make him nervous. He is a small and terrified of the dark, he forgets his homework and is usually the one the conductor must wait for in order to start playing. He is stupid in everything other than playing music, and Kageyama has never felt intimidated by him in the months that he has been friends with him. But still, with all those things, being with Hinata is making his stomach twist, and as he walks down the hall to Hinata’s room, following the sound of his voice talking about the movies he has for them to watch, Kageyama feels very nervous.

“Which one do you want?”

In front of Kageyama is Hinata, who is sitting on his knees holding up two movies. One of them Kageyama recognizes as a popular American thriller movie, one that they’d be able to watch with subtitles, probably. The other is an animated film, one that Kageyama doesn’t recognize personally, but thinks he heard about it when he was smaller. Hinata is in front of the DVD player, waiting for Kageyama to respond.

“I don’t know. What about both?” Kageyama suggests, and Hinata smiles.

“Good idea! Horror movie first, then the fun one.” He puts the first disc in and then jumps to his feet. “I’ll get blankets. You can go make popcorn. The bags are right next to the microwave.”

Kageyama gets to his feet and Hinata walks away, probably to his room to pull the comforter off of his bed. He can hear Hinata’s mother in the kitchen, and he follows the noise of pans bumping and water running, bare feet cold against the wood floor and fingers running along the wall. He stops right before the doorway of the kitchen and looks at a giant framed drawing on the wall. It’s just a giant scribble, pencil on paper that shows the design of what looks like a tornado, or maybe a giant stormy cloud. Whatever it is, it was done by Hinata, and in the very corner, it’s named “Anger; Shouyou, age four” in neat lettering. Kageyama smiles a little and walks into the kitchen, where Hinata’s mother is drying her hands on a towel. Beside her are dishes piled up on the counter next to the sink, and beside that pile is the microwave, bags of popcorn sitting on top of it along with two small bowls.

“Do you need any help?” Kageyama asks because it feels wrong not to, and he puts the dishes away in his house with Nao every night.

“No, I can manage. Besides, It’s Natsu’s turn to help me, and she’s somehow bribed Hinata to do her chores for the past few days, so there’s no way I’m letting her off the hook this time,” she says. There’s a whine from the dining area, and Hinata’s mother smiles. “You hear that Natsu? Come on in and help your poor mother.”

While Kageyama puts the popcorn in the microwave, he watches Natsu dry the silverware and put it in its proper drawer. He thinks he knows how Hinata got tricked into doing her chores, because even now, Natsu looks over at him and pouts, eyes blown wide and chin wobbling, and he wants to put all the dishes away for her and let her continue drawing, or whatever she was doing before she got called in by her mother. Kageyama guesses that Hinata’s mother notices that Natsu is obviously trying to guilt trip her son's friend, because she pulls Natsu out of the room, ignoring her whines and promising to read her an extra bedtime story if she leaves Kageyama alone.

Without them, it’s quieter, and Kageyama closes his eyes and takes a deep breath before reaching forward to stop the microwave when there’s a screech from behind him.

“You’re gonna burn it!”

Kageyama jumps up, and Hinata nudges him aside with his hip, because his hands are full of blankets and pillows and he can’t push him away like he usually would, and he hums in consideration before leaning forward to press the end button on the microwave with the tip of his nose. Kageyama stares, and his heart flutters in his chest because somehow, that was the most adorable thing he has ever seen.

No, it wasn’t, actually, and Kageyama shakes the thought out of his head, because Hinata is not adorable or cute, or any other word like that. He’s stubborn and annoying and frustrating as he pushes all the blankets and pillows into Kageyama’s hands, picking the bag of popcorn from the microwave and opening it with a grin. Kageyama can see the steam rise from the bag, and when Hinata looks inside, he sighs with relief.

“I made it just in time,” he says proudly. Kageyama kicks him lightly in the shin.

“I was going to stop it.”

“No, you weren’t,” Hinata argues. He pours the popcorn into the two bowls, some of it spilling over and bouncing off the counter onto the floor, and Hinata just picks it up and throws it into his mouth. Kageyama wrinkles his nose and backs away.

“Gross.”

“What? Does this bother you, Kageyama-kun?” Hinata opens his mouth wide while stepping closer, and Kageyama sees all the gross spit and food all in the back of his mouth. He gags, pushes his hand into Hinata’s face to push him away, and then turns around to run to the living room, where he can hide, or maybe smash a pillow into Hinata’s head, anything to get away from him.

Instead, he trips backward, and for the second time that day, he lands hard on his tailbone, head hitting the rug. Hinata jumps on top of him, or rather on the mounds of blankets and pillows that didn’t help cushion Kageyama’s fall at all, and Kageyama sees a tuft of red hair in the bottom of his vision, so he cranes his neck and looks at the top of the blankets.

“This is comfy,” Hinata says. His voice is muffled because he’s speaking with his head pushed into the blankets, and Kageyama can feel him sinking slowly, all of his weight on Kageyama's chest. Hinata isn’t heavy, not necessarily, but it is a little harder to breathe with him on top of his diaphragm, and Kageyama reaches around the mounds of covers to push Hinata off.

“You're gonna suffocate me,” He warns.

“Good, then I won't be yelled at by you anymore.”

“I won't be able to play.”

“You suck anyways,” Hinata says. Something grabs Kageyama’s hand, and he recognizes it as Hinata’s own hand, fingers running down the underside of his wrist and over his palm.

“I won't be able to play _with you_ ,” Kageyama tries instead, and Hinata laughs. Kageyama feels the weight rolling off of him until it's all gone and he sits up, blankets still covering him. Hinata grabs one from his lap and wraps it around his shoulders, sitting back down on the floor across from Kageyama, so close their knees press together. Kageyama just stares at Hinata as he fixes the blanket, and then stares back at Kageyama, neither of them saying anything until Hinata gasps in realization.

“I forgot the popcorn in the kitchen! Go press play for the movie and I’ll be right back,” Hinata says, scrambling to get up. The blanket drags behind him on the floor, and it looks like he’s wearing a big fluffy cape. As he crawls over to press the play button on the DVD player, he hears a crash in the kitchen, like someone falling down, and he snorts. Karma.

Kageyama is sitting on the couch when Hinata drops a popcorn bowl in his lap. He jumps onto the couch, sits with his legs folded beneath him while Kageyama plants his on the floor so his feet don’t fall asleep. The couch is a loveseat; it’s short and Hinata is pretty close to Kageyama, shoulder just barely touching his own. Kageyama folds his blanket over his lap, props a pillow on the armrest, and shifts a little closer to Hinata so he can lean over onto the headrest comfortably. Hinata just sits up straight, pillow on his lap as a makeshift table for his popcorn.

The movie starts, but it soon becomes apparent that Kageyama won’t be focusing on the plot and terrifying scenes of gore and horror. Instead, every jump Hinata does, once even a hand shooting out to grab Kageyama’s shoulder, makes Kageyama close his eyes so he can remember how to breathe right. Hinata is a big baby who is basically crying, and Kageyama looks over at him, hears a scream from the television and looks at how Hinata cowers. He sighs.

“Hinata, if you’re too scared-”

“I’m not scared! I’m just really into the movie,” Hinata lies. Kageyama rolls his eyes.

“Alright. What if _I’m_ too scared and want to play music instead?” Kageyama asks. Hinata sits up straight and reaches over to get the remote on the coffee table. Once he has it in his hands, he presses a button and the screaming and crying from the victim are muted.

“I don’t have any piano,” Hinata says.

“I don’t need one. You just play for me, put on a little concert since you literally just forced me into one an hour ago.”

“That was Natsu!”

“You didn’t disagree with her!”

Kageyama watches Hinata thinks, a process he usually watches from afar, from where he is seated on the piano bench in class several feet away, or from the doorway of the back room in the music store. He watches Hinata’s tongue stick out of the corner of his mouth, eyebrows pinching the skin above his nose and eyes focused down in front of him. He hums, and then looks at Kageyama and finally says, “let’s go outside.” 

\---

Outside, the air is cold.

Not freezing, but enough to make Kageyama tug the blanket he brought out with him tighter around his shoulders. He’s sitting down on the edge of the small porch, watching Hinata push his hair out of his eyes and raise his violin to his neck. He plays a scale, so softly that Kageyama doesn't even think he hears it, and then he takes a deep breath and looks at Kageyama.

“I don’t know what to play,” he whispers.

“Play anything,” Kageyama says. He speaks softly, and he doesn’t know why, because he is sure they won’t be heard by anyone else who may be sleeping. Hinata’s backyard is surrounded by trees and there is no way they will be loud enough to wake up an entire neighborhood. Still, there’s something about an empty place that makes you feel like an observer, and Kageyama has that feeling tenfold. He is observing Hinata, and he’s afraid of being too loud and breaking the moment, shattering the tension in the air as Hinata closes his eyes, positions his bow, and slowly [draws it against the strings](https://soundcloud.com/martin_calden/yiruma-kiss-the-rain-violin-cover).

He recognizes the song the moment the first notes are played. He is positive every person with any knowledge of piano and violin pieces can name it, with how overdone it is and how it’s in every sad, angsty video ever. It is nothing new, nothing he hasn’t heard, but with Hinata playing it, it’s like it’s a different song altogether. 

It’s so stupid, so unbelievably dumb, how Hinata playing a song can make it that much better. When Hinata plays, Kageyama feels the waves of emotion explode off of him, can feel himself breath when Hinata breathes, sway when Hinata leans forward with the drag of his bow, and he’s sure that if he presses his hand against Hinata’s chest to feel his heartbeat, he would find his own beating in sync. 

He wonders if this is how Hinata felt when he watched him play, if he felt as if his world was only being held together by the seams- like he was only grounded by the notes he was playing- the same was Kageyama feels. Or maybe it's only him. Maybe Hinata listening to him play is no different than listening to any other piano player, any other song or recording. The thought sits in his head, makes his throat burn something sour, and Kageyama forces himself to focus on Hinata playing. He watches the way his fingers move over the strings, eyes closed and all of his energy going into the song, so much that Kageyama feels a lump rise in his throat because everything seems so _right_.

Hinata is playing for him and the wind is still, trees rustling slightly, and it’s cold but he doesn’t even feel it anymore. His socks are damp from being in the grass, and he knows Hinata is barefoot and should be shivering, but he isn’t, not even when he pulls the song to a close and finally opens his eyes.

“I always struggle with the really high notes, so I’m sorry if it got a bit pitchy at the end there.” Is the first thing Hinata says, and Kageyama wants to slap him because that’s not the first thing he should be thinking when he finishes a song after playing like he just did. He should feel energized and happy and amazing and know with confidence that he is a perfect player. Kageyama wants to say all those things, wants to let Hinata know how great he thinks he is, but he can’t get the words out of his mouth. He’s too busy trying to breathe past the lump in his throat, stuck thinking that the last time he felt emotion like this, the last time he truly cried because of music, was last summer, where the violin notes he heard were nice and perfect but nothing like Hinata’s, who plays in a way Kageyama can only describe as magical.

“How the hell are you real?” He blurts out. The words come out blunt and cold, and Kageyama doesn’t even know why he said them, but he wishes he could take them back.

Hinata just tilts his head and walks over to him. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” Kageyama says. Hinata sighs and sits next to him, spreading his violin across his lap. His feet are bare, toes curling into the grass, and Kageyama looks back towards the door in a silent question, but Hinata shakes his head.

“No, I want to know what you meant,” he persists. 

“I don’t know,” Kageyama repeats. “I just don’t know how you can worry about how you messed up when whatever you play just sounds… really good.”

“Oh,” Hinata says. He doesn’t say anything for a while, and Kageyama worries that maybe he said something wrong, or made Hinata uncomfortable, and he really wants to punch himself in the face because how could he be so _stupid_ , but then Hinata is laughing, leaning his against Kageyama with his cheek on his shoulder. “That was actually really nice, Kageyama. I thought you were gonna say something mean like usual, you know with your scary face and deep spooky voice-”

“I do _not_ have a spooky voice.”

“-but that was actually really sweet!” Hinata finishes. Kageyama just grunts and looks at Hinata through the corner of his eye. He’s still on Kageyama’s shoulder, legs kicking out and swinging because his toes barely brush the grass. He looks weird, with his cheek smushed against Kageyama’s shoulder, and the sight should definitely not make Kageyama’s heart beat a little fast, especially not when Hinata presses closer like he’s actually snuggling Kageyama, because that’s not something to get excited for and it’s just a weird Hinata thing because Hinata is weird, and stupid, and looks cute like this and _shut up_.

‘I wanna go inside,” Kageyama croaks. Hinata opens his eyes and smiles before he sits up straight and picks his violin off his lap. Kageyama’s feet are prickly and cold, socks wet and probably dirty, so he takes them off before he steps inside, balling them up and shoving them into the pocket of his pajama pants.

“You wanna continue with the movie?” Hinata asks. Kageyama shakes his head, even though he wouldn’t mind watching the movie. He can see Hinata clearly doesn’t, though, and he doesn’t mind because he’s tired and just wants to sleep. His body is achy and his mind is still fuzzy from Hinata’s playing, so he just wants to go to bed and sleep and hope that whatever these weird feeling are will be gone by the time tomorrow comes.

So they take their waters and blankets into Hinata’s room, abandoning half empty bowls of popcorn and clicking the off button on the television. Hinata’s room is the same, except there is a futon on the floor lines up right against the edge of Hinata’s bed, with a clean sheet covering it.

“You better not step on me,” Kageyama warns, and he steps forward just in time to avoid the kick to the back of the knee Hinata sends. Kageyama dumps the blankets on Hinata’s bed and takes the one he used outside, along with a pillow that looks pretty soft and then seats himself onto the futon. Hinata crawls into bed and just looks at him.

It's silent for a few seconds, but then Hinata says, “I promise I won’t step on you.”

Kageyama doesn’t know what to say, so he just stays quiet and rolls over onto his back, reaching over his head to prop the pillow up a little more. He’s tired, but not enough that he thinks he could fall asleep, just a dull ache in his bones that settles as he breathes out a long stream of air. He closes his eyes, and he thinks Hinata is asleep, because his breathing is soft and he’s making those whistle-breaths that Kageyama heard before when Hinata fell asleep, but then Hinata shifts and Kageyama turns his head and sees Hinata watching him, eyes reflecting the light from the hallway that seeps through the crack in the almost closed door.

“Kageyama?”

“Hm?”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want, but do you remember when we first played together?” Hinata asks.

“Of course, I do,” Kageyama answers, because how could he forget that?

“Okay, well, remember what you said to me before we played?”

“I said a lot of things.”

“Yeah, but you said that you didn’t want to play with me because- well because no one else liked to play with you. And it doesn’t make any sense to me because you’re really good, and I think you’re the best piano player I’ve met- not that I’ve met a whole ton, but still,” Hinata prattles. Kageyama looks at Hinata right in the eyes, and he stops talking, just breathes in a shaky breath and rolls over onto his side after a second so he faces the wall. “Nevermind, I don’t need to know, I was just wondering.”

“It’s fine, Hinata,” Kageyama says. “I just wasn’t always a good person to play with, okay?”

“You’re good now.”

“Only to you, Hinata,” Kageyama says. “No one else could keep up, or match with me, or play up to the impossible expectations I had, and so I played alone.” That isn’t the whole truth, not even half. It’s a small percentage, a sliver of the reality that he doesn’t want to expose to Hinata, who is the only really person who has stayed by his side. He knows Hinata deserves to know, but he can’t bring himself to tell him, because what if Hinata changes his mind about Kageyama, what if he leaves him alone just like everyone else?

Last summer, Kageyama was abandoned. Looking back now, he knows the signs of it happening were obvious and the whole situation was probably inevitable, but it still aches, and he can’t tell that story, not yet.

“Well, I like playing with you.” There’s a hand that reaches down, small and barely visible in the dark, and fingertips graze along Kageyama’s cheek, trailing down his neck and pressing down on his shoulder until Kageyama lifts his own hand and wraps it messily around Hinata’s. “Playing with you makes my heart go _whoosh_ and my fingers feel like they might freeze up, but they don’t because if I stop moving my hands then I stop playing with you, which I never want to happen.”

Kageyama closes his eyes, and the fingers knotted in his own unwrap and go back to sliding over his cheek and pushing back his hair, and maybe this isn’t exactly normal for friends, maybe it's wrong and something too intimate for two boys, but it’s too late and whatever Hinata is saying is washing right through him and stinging in the best way, so Kageyama just lets Hinata pet his hair and graze his fingertips against his scalp because it feels nice.

“I love playing with you, Kageyama, and I don’t think anything could make me want to stop wanting to be by your side,” Hinata assures, voice soft. He must be leaning down, hanging off the side of his bed, because Kageyama feels his breath hit the curve of his neck, warm against the place where his neck meets his shoulder. A thumb brushes away something wet that rolls down Kageyama’s cheek from his eyes, but Hinata doesn’t say anything, and Kageyama slows his breathing and pretends to be asleep because he doesn't want to talk anymore, and after a minute of focusing on the light feeling of fingers in his hair, he doesn’t have to pretend.

\---

(He wakes up with light pooling in from the window and Hinata’s hand hanging off the bed and tangled in his own. He is reminded of the night before, where he grabbed Hinata’s hand in the auditorium and felt close to a revelation, and slowly, just as Hinata’s eyes slide open and gaze down at him, smile forming before he hides it by pressing his face into his pillow, realization floods his mind and he is left struggling for air, because holy shit, he thinks he really, _really_ , likes Hinata.)

\---

It’s two weeks before Miyagi auditions, and they fight.

It isn’t a small disagreement, the ones they usually have where they bicker until someone tells them to shut up, or until they have to go their separate ways. This fight is real. It is one where Kageyama’s words are mean and Hinata screams, one that has Kageyama’s fingers digging into the cracks between the keys of his piano, memories pushing at his reality, feeling the edge of year old splinters break into his skin again, and Kageyama can’t take it. 

“You’re completely wrong!”

“Why don’t you just get off my back and worry about your own music, okay?” Hinata snaps, dropping his violin from where it rests on his shoulder. The bow is gripped right in his other fist, and Kageyama can see Hinata run his thumb hard against the hair of it so tightly it might snap.

“Why are you being so defensive? I’m just saying that you _clearly_ need to practice-”

“Don’t talk to me like that-”

“Like what? You mean don’t criticize you because you can’t handle-”

“That,” Kageyama flinches back when Hinata stomps his foot on the ground, “that is what pisses me off, Kageyama. You keep telling me what to do like I’m stupid!” 

Hinata is steaming, rage flowing through him like hot magma, overflowing and stuck inside with nowhere to go. He wants to scream, to punch and kick and throw everything to the floor, and Kageyama can feel it. Seeing Hinata yell only gets him angry, and he jumps out of his chair, takes a step towards Hinata, who stands his ground, which just makes Kageyama even angrier.

“I’m not going to play with someone who’s too idiotic to take the advice that they clearly need. You think we get into the Miyagi Orchestra just by showing up? Do you think it’s that easy?” Kageyama roars.

“No!” Kageyama stops walking and just stares at Hinata, with his red face and red eyes and tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and oh, _oh_. “I know it’s not easy, but you don’t have to be so cruel!” Hinata yells, and Kageyama has heard those words before, heard them many times, and he can’t help the stutter that rises to his lips.

“I-I’m not being-”

“Yes, you are! You’re yelling and saying I’m not doing anything right as if you’re doing everything perfectly, as if _I’m_ the only thing holding you back,” Hinata snarls. He pushes his violin into its case, zipping it up and holding it in his hand. “I am not the one holding you back, Kageyama. I am the only thing that’s making people doubt what other’s have said about you for so long. I’m the only reason you’re not still stuck on that throne, the only person who bothered to stay with you despite what a pain in the ass you are.”

Hinata’s words bite, push into his head and stay there, echoing. Hinata opens the doors to the nursery, and Kageyama follows, because he is still angry, still wants to ram his fist into Hinata’s face or squeeze him against his chest or both.

“It’s not my fault that I want you to do well.” Hinata stops with his hand on the door handle, and Kageyama walks to where he is, freezes only a few steps short of where Hinata stands. “You’re lucky I even correct you because anyone else wouldn’t care enough about how well you play.”

“Do you?” Hinata asks. His voice is quiet, and all the air leaves Kageyama’s lungs, taking with it any anger he still had. “Do you care? Or am I the only person who was willing to stay long enough for you to get into the Miyagi Orchestra. Because that’s all you seem to care about, lately. You look at me and hear me and see your acceptance letter.”

The door opens, and when Hinata walks out, a gust of cold air enters the house. Kageyama doesn’t feel it, he’s too busy searching for words he doesn’t think he’ll find. A million apologies float around in his head, but he can’t seem to open his mouth and say any of them. The door shuts with a slam that rattles the frame, and finally, Kageyama breathes.

Without Hinata in the room, realization and guilt seeps in. He shouldn’t have said anything, should have held his tongue and swallowed any comments he had made because he knows how hard Hinata tries. He knows that the standards Hinata has for himself are incredibly high, and any mistake he might have made Kageyama knows Hinata probably beat himself up for it in his head, so why the fuck did he have to make it worse?

Kageyama walks upstairs to his room and sits on his bed, leaning over and pushing his nose into his pillow. He’s such an _idiot_. He knows Hinata can’t help it if he messes up once in awhile, he can’t even read music perfectly. But no, Kageyama had to be an asshole and just yell at him over and over, it’s no wonder that Hinata got tired of it. It’s a wonder that he didn’t walk out sooner.

Briefly, Kageyama wonders if maybe that's it. He has been told that history repeats itself, and he's stuck in the same place as before, thinking of ways to pull back the people he forced away, speaking words into a room that only he stands in, wishing so desperately he could go back in time and fix what he broke. Maybe he’ll never see Hinata again, and Kageyama thinks that maybe it's for the better, and he has always been destined to be alone.

\---

Outside Kageyama’s house, Hinata waits.

He knows he should start the walk home because it's really cold and only gonna get colder and he doesn't even have his jacket on (he thinks he left it in Kageyama’s house, draped over the back of a chair in the kitchen), but despite the icy chill making his teeth chatter and breath fog in front of him, he wants to stay. He wants Kageyama to come outside and see him standing there and feel so guilty he can't breathe, wants his phone to ring and for Kageyama to ask, _beg_ him to come back, but it won't happen, because Kageyama is stupid.

Or maybe Hinata is the stupid one for wanting these things to happen. Maybe Kageyama really doesn't care about him or their playing, maybe he was only playing with him and hanging out with him because he wanted to get into the orchestra, and now that Hinata has found out, Kageyama figures there's no reason to pretend anymore. 

At the thought of this, his stomach twists, knots up and he pushes his fist into his mouth so he doesn't scream. All he does is wail and sob, heaves and gasps so much that he feels bile creep up his throat, and he spits it into the dirt behind the bushes in Kageyama’s front yard.

These feeling are too familiar, yet they're so much worse than he remembers. He remembers the way he threw up after his first audition, how horrible words still screamed in his head. Hinata takes the steps down Kageyama’s front porch slowly, and he swears he feels the heavy hand on his shoulder guiding him out again, a deep voice in his ear that festers deep within him.

 _“You can play, but you cannot read. The reading is half the battle, and you are losing that battle. Learn and use your talent, don't sit down and accept everything to come your way just because you can pick up a bow,”_ he had said. His words were the kind ones. Hinata looked at his score sheet and read the notes scribbled in the margin, each one telling him to give up someway or another, every single sentence and score making the tears burn more against his eyes.

Then, Hinata only cried when he was home when he could shove a pillow into his mouth so his mom didn't ask what was wrong and Natsu didn't get upset at seeing him so sad, but now, he can't hold it in. He cries and makes ugly noises, feels snot fall from his nose and only smears it on his cheek when he tries to wipe it away. Hinata is an ugly crier, and this is a terribly ugly moment, and he feels horrible.

Horrible like that sinking feeling he had when he was told sight reading was a vital part of the audition process, horrible like the faces of confusion and disbelief at his admittance that he couldn’t just read music.

 _“But if I listen, I can get it right away, I_ swear _,”_ he had said, and they shook their heads, because no one could do that, especially not him if he had only been playing for so short, for barely three years. They were already being generous, they all said. _Already, we let you audition without an accompaniment piece and partner_ , one of them pointed out, _and now you say you can’t read music?_

He was led out of the building not more than two minutes later, swallowing tears past the lump in his throat and listening to the man speak to him as he led him out the door, and the rest is history, the rest is what’s happening now, crying as he walks down an empty street, longing for someone to be next to him, longing for someone to just hold his hand and it doesn’t have to be with all those feelings- all those butterflies he’s been getting in his chest recently, all those flutters of his heart- just a sense of support would be nice.

As Hinata gets closer to his street, he forces himself to calm down. He doesn’t want to cry in front of anyone, and he refuses for this to be like last time. He tightens his grip on his violin case, because this time, he won’t let go. He’s going to play and he’s going to audition, with or without Kageyama by his side. If he has to track down one of his middle school friends who played the piano and beg for them to help him out, he would do it; he refuses to give up music, and he refuses to let Kageyama win.

Unlike usual, his steps are slow and heavy as he approaches his front door, digging his hand into his front pocket until he finally feels the sharp edges of his house key. Usually, he is running to the door, fueled either by the unrealistic fear of something coming up from behind him or the adrenaline he gets when he thinks of how he and Kageyama played, how Kageyama looked when he played, every compliment he gave Hinata and how it knocked the breath out of him. Now, all he can remember is the way Kageyama’s face dropped when Hinata turned to walk out of the door, the transition from anger to confusion to something else brushing over his face. Hinata had never, he thinks, once seen Kageyama with that hurt expression before tonight, and the fact that Hinata caused it to some degree makes his gut twist, and he feels like he’s going to throw up, so he rushes inside and to the bathroom before he has the opportunity to puke on his front door.

He doesn't throw up. Instead he washes his face and rubs his eyes hard enough to see impressions of color swirl in the dark, dots of yellow and red and blue, and then he pulls off his shirt and throws in into the hamper because there are tear stains on the bottom of it from wiping his eyes on the walk home. His eyes still burn and itch a little from the fabric rubbed against his skin, but he shuts off the faucet anyways because he’s too tired to do anything but fall asleep.

Once in his room, Hinata grabs his phone and scrolls through his notifications. He’s searching for Kageyama’s name to be there, a message, hopefully an apology of some kind, _anything_ , but all he sees are twitter notifications and a few texts from other people- people that don’t care, people that aren’t Kageyama- and he gets that sinking feeling that takes over his body, so much so that he raises his phone high above his head like he wants to slam it down, but lets his fist fall flat and softly on his bed, ignoring the tears that drop with it.

\---

Kageyama’s first audition was when he was ten years old.

He was to perform with a program he’d been trying to get into for a little over a year now, something that was expensive and far away, filled with tutors and teachers that only accepted the best of those who auditioned, and when Kageyama wasn’t accepted the first time, he wasn’t really surprised. He looked at his playing skills compared to the other kids he saw perform and saw nothing, a meager attempt and barely anything.

So he practiced nonstop, didn’t talk much to the other kids at school because they were only a distraction that stood between himself and his ever improving talent, and set expectations for himself that were too high to reach, yet he still aimed for them. He practically lived in the nursery, he learned to breathe music and feel it in everything, played until his fingers grew tired and shook and grew familiar with the heavy gazes of his father looking through the glass of the door, ignoring attempts to drag him away from the piano and push him outside to play with the other boys. They couldn't see, he would convince himself, they couldn’t see that music was the only thing he could really hold onto, the only solid thing in a constantly shaking world.

Kageyama’s second audition was when he was eleven.

He arrived at the tall building and signed in, followed a guide to a separate room where he would wait to be called, and then went straight to the piano, sitting down and not moving until someone tapped him on the shoulder. He was brought into a room with scrutinizing and judgmental stares, with pens that scraped on paper so loudly that he could hear it over his playing. He finished breathless, sweating even though it was cold in the room, and when he looked up, they were smiling.

He got in.

His practices were three times a week, four hours every night with a thirty-minute dinner break, and Kageyama never really felt okay until he was in that building, being watched over the shoulder by tutors and fellow peers. Every mistake was pointed out, every flaw was revealed, and Kageyama took every criticism with a nod and another attempt. He was thrown into music pieces he could barely read and forced to push through them, taught to play with efficiency and skill, taught to never accept anything that was less than perfect, and when the performance was done at the end of a three-month period, he graduated the program and was sent on his way to Junior High with confidence in the knowledge that he was a very good player.

He thinks it was those expectations that led him to be so disliked, but now Kageyama knows he can't blame it all on himself. It wasn't his fault he was so used to being met with perfection, but it was his fault that he voiced his thoughts and opinions about other players and their skills in such a cruel way. It wasn't his fault that he was exceptional, but it was his fault when he let that get to his head and convince himself that he was better off alone. 

Because to him, alone meant no one talked behind your back. Alone meant you didn't have to deal with stares from kids who hate you for nothing more than a talent. Alone meant you go on stage and play and don't stop midway because your partner stopped playing midway through the audition piece; alone meant not having to listen to the sounds of him walking off stage and leaving you stranded on a stage that now feels like an island with everyone watching, yet no one reaching out to help.

Now, alone is a cruel and cold truth. Alone means staring at the screen of your cell phone and waiting (yearning) for it to vibrate and buzz with a text message. Alone means wishing to hear that vibrant laugh. Alone means realizing that you fucked up again.

Last summer, Kageyama fucked up because he was never kind. 

Some would argue he had it coming, others would say no kid deserves that kind of thing to happen to them, not at such a young age, not when they could give up and never do what they loved again. Kageyama just figures a certain amount of it was karma, the damage he inflicted upon himself, but some of it was cruelty influenced by the hatred that he had sparked in his peers in junior high and could have definitely been solved another way.

Kageyama hates thinking about it, but he figures there’s no real way to avoid the problem, no real way to reflect if the same thing just seems to be happening over and over again. He has to be doing something wrong, something has to be pushing everyone away. If he’s fixed everything like he thought he did, then why did Hinata leave?

Originally, the plan was for Kageyama to go to high school in Tokyo. There, a prestigious school sent him an offer a year early, a partial scholarship if he made it past an audition, for their music program. The school is kind of like a career school, meaning that while he would still have to take maths classes and sciences and history, most of his schedule would be classes dedicated to music, like music theory, orchestra, composing- even a course on learning how to conduct, if he wanted.

The school was everything. He was to audition a few weeks before the first semester of his third year in junior high, the very last weeks of summer. To other kids, that would be annoying, having to cut off summer vacations and cancel plans with friends, the last moment of freedom before they’d have to take entrance exams and worry about high schools, but Kageyama didn't mind. The few friends he had weren't even close to him, and the only people he really connected with were those who he went to the music program with, but most of them didn't text him anymore, and he wasn't one to cling, so he just let them go.

His [practice piece](https://soundcloud.com/astika-elfakhri/frederic-chopin-fantasie?in=user-225515429/sets/satin-robes-and-red-wine) was impressive. He knew it was because he created it himself. It was a combination of several complicated compositions, a mix of everything that showed off his efficiency and speed, and Kageyama knew he’d be accepted because no one would be able to perform well after he did. The only thing he was slightly worried about was the accompaniment piece because it was a song that one of the boys picked, something from a show he loved to watch, and the other violinist agreed that it'd be cool and fun to learn. Despite his arguments that it was a stupid idea, majority rules, so Kageyama begrudgingly listened to the music and learned it in a day.

It was too simple, too slow and easy. Anyone could play it, and it wouldn't let them stand out at all, but Kageyama just let his anger sit and didn't fight, because when he lashed out, people left, and even though he didn't really like the two boys he was auditioning with (they joked around too much, yelled and laughed too loud, grinned too wide and told Kageyama to lighten up and he _hated_ people like that), he didn't really have anyone else. Besides, he figured, he'd just audition with them and never speak to them again, because, with their lacking skill and abilities, there was no chance they’d be accepted. He was pretty sure they were getting sick of him, too, because every attempt of him helping them led to a passive aggressive reply that left Kageyama wanting to yell, but knowing it wouldn't be worth his time.

“You’re speeding up. The song is _slow_ for a reason,” Kindaichi hissed. He was the first violinist. Pretty good at playing, but it took him a long time to learn a song and he always fumbled with his positions. An exceptional player would know everything, be able to show positions on his violin with his eyes closed, even with the violin behind his back.

“Don’t mind him, just try to match and shut up. I have to go home soon,” Kunimi said, yawning into his hand. He was playing the second violin for the piece, and he was only slightly better than Kindaichi, in Kageyama’s opinion. Not in playing, but in personality, because unlike Kindaichi, he didn’t throw a fit when he didn’t get his way. While Kageyama and Kindaichi would scream and argue for hours, Kunimi would just sigh and jam his earphones into his ears and sit on the floor until Kindaichi either stormed out of the room or Kageyama slammed his fist hard enough on the piano keys to produce a horrible sound so loud that he could hear it through the loud music streaming from his phone. Occasionally, it was both, and he was the one to pull Kindaichi into the room again and convince Kageyama to calm down.

That day, Kageyama knew there was no time to argue. The audition was tomorrow, which meant that in less than twenty-four hours he would play the most important piece of his life, the piece that would determine his entire future. Everyone who graduated the music school in Tokyo later became famous musicians, touring with orchestras or playing for live musicals. The only thing Kageyama could picture himself doing was playing piano, so he had to ensure that was what he ended up doing because, without piano, he was nothing. 

“Whatever, I’ll slow down, let’s just practice so Kunimi can go home and stop being annoying,” Kageyama spat. Kunimi glared at that, and his upper lip curled up a bit, but then he sighed and raised his violin to playing position.

That time, Kageyama listened. It sounded okay, sure, but it was too bland, too slow and boring. Still, Kageyama held himself back, forced himself to stay at the tempo Kindaichi and Kunimi was playing at, because, after that, he could go home and sleep. He needed to be perfect for tomorrow because tomorrow was the first step into his future.

That step turned out to be a jump right off of a ledge, but Kageyama didn’t realize that until he was sitting in front of the piano, Kunimi, and Kindaichi behind him and setting up their music in the big auditorium. Kageyama didn’t even need music, but he still had it up just in case. He stretched his fingers, spread them wide and curled them into tight fists before relaxing his muscles, and he waited a minute, looked out of the corner of his eyes at the judges sitting down in the auditorium, computers on and fingers hovering above keyboards to take notes and write does every little thing that would determine whether or not he got in. 

Kageyama remembers that before he pressed on the keys, he thought of his mom, wondered what she would have said if she was alive to see him go here; if she would have liked listening to him practice at home. Would she be happy to see him come this far, even if it meant playing with people who didn’t really like him? 

The question still pops up, especially now, with his body under the covers, still as he forces himself to endure memories that make him shake, make him grow so heavy with self-hatred that he feels like he might throw up.

Kageyama started to play on that stage, and [everything was fine.](https://soundcloud.com/rathlion/hiroyuki-sawano-ao-no-exorcistblue-exorcist-movie-ost-usamaro)

Kunimi was good when he came in, every note perfect and full of emotion. Kindaichi came in, and Kageyama speeded up a bit, because that’s what he felt like doing, and it sounded nice, the littlest tempo change to show the change in emotion that the song was trying to depict. He felt good, all butterflies gone and everything nice, and the tempo was getting faster. He heard wrong notes and wrong dynamics, and Kageyama resisted the urge to turn around and yell because he couldn’t let the people judging see him at his worst. They needed to believe he was good enough, and he was, he was just helping back.

The final note of the first sequence ended perfectly, and Kageyama slowed down a little, dragged out his small solo for as long as he could and then hit the final chord and let it sink in the air. He gave a little nod of his head, his cue for Kunimi to start his solo, and he waited.

Nothing happened.

The sound was hanging in the air, and someone coughed, gruff and wet in their throat, and Kageyama risked a look around, only to see backs turned and feet walking off the stage, slow steps as if waiting to see what he would do. His head pounded and his hands trembled and he thought that maybe this was it, this was the end of everything and the unthinkable had happened. Before he could drop them, they just got up and left.

Slowly, Kageyama pressed a single finger down on the key and played by himself. He didn't know what he was doing, and he couldn't even see the keys, eyes blurred by tears that he refused to acknowledge. He played their parts, played as they stopped and listened from the edges of the stage. He heard muttering and saw Kindaichi spit onto the stage in his direction before shoving his way past Kunimi, who only shook his head before following. Kageyama bit his lip and played more, forced everything he felt into the music he never wanted to play in the first place, and then after he was done, he bowed his head and forced out a thank you.

They said he’d get a call if he got in, and his phone never rang.

Except it did after the results got out and both Kimono and Kindaichi got past the first audition phase. He learned that from the messages that forced him to shut off his phone and stuff it in the bottom of a drawer, cruel and mean words and accusations from kids at his school or friends of those he had played with or friends of those whom he had put beneath him, once. Now, staring at his wall, Kageyama can still read the words. They burned themselves into his head, they’re the ones that made him cry so hard he couldn't breathe, the ones that made him tell his father he never wanted to play again, that this whole thing was no use if he couldn’t play right, if he couldn’t go to that school and get to the top.

“That’s not everything, Tobio. You’re mother said that music was made for those with nothing else but love-”

“I don’t have love!” Kageyama had screamed, because he _didn’t_ , couldn't he see? All he had was this hatred that festered inside him that was mean and so _wrong_ , and his fingernails dug into the cracks between the keys, heavy and full of everything he’d been holding in ever since he left that audition. It was one of the last days of summer, and it was full of tears and splinters painted white digging into the pads of his fingers as he ripped a key out of the piano, full of the broken sound of the wood snapping. With it, some of that deep anger lifted, and he pulled out another, and another, until his father was pulling him back. There were holes in the piano that he was forced to look at as he was dragged out of the nursery and squeezed tight in his father’s arms, and knowing those keys and the sound they made, knowing how much his mother spent on this piano when she was alive and fresh out of college, how it was old and beautiful and now void of anything, he felt an emptiness arise inside him, too.

That was last summer, one of the worst, full of anger and rejection. Kageyama doesn’t even care about the school, not anymore. The school was a hit in the face, but the abandonment from his partners was a stab in the back and then a twist of the knife. Now, knowing Hinata has slipped away makes him feel like the wound was still there, healing and scarring, and Hinata just ripped it back open again.

 _No, not Hinata_ , Kageyama thinks, _I did this to myself_.

Kageyama looks at his phone screen again, illuminated by the recent text messages he sent Hinata a few days ago. It was a stupid conversation that ended too soon, and Kageyama remembers lying and saying he had to go because he couldn’t handle talking to Hinata, sometimes. His emotions got out of hand and his heart jumped whenever Hinata texted him, and sometimes a smile spread across his face that was so wide it forced him to push his face into his pillow, because he knew his smiles were scary and even though Hinata couldn’t see him, he still felt embarrassed over it. 

It makes sense now, though. He likes Hinata a lot, something that he knows would make Hinata leave him if he found out. So maybe it was better this way, with Hinata now gone. This way, Hinata hates him for his selfishness, and Kageyama doesn't have to face the reality of rejection of his feelings along with the rejection of him as a music partner. 

_Yeah_ , Kageyama thinks, _it’s probably better this way_.

\---

They don't talk in school.

Kageyama stares at Hinata's back during class, some part of him screaming at him to just turn around, just look at him once, _please_.

Hinata keeps his gaze forward and his head high, and the only time he sees Kageyama is when Kageyama messes up, slips up so bad during a song he should know how to play with his arms closed. His stare is cold and hard, like he doesn't believe Katayama's really there, and it's like Kageyama doesn't know him at all.

\---

It’s Sunday night, a week before the audition, and Hinata cannot play.

He’s trying. He’s outside and he’s barefoot, wearing nothing but shorts and an old sweatshirt, and he has his violin ready and he’s dragging his bow across the strings but all he hears is garbage, a mess of notes that don’t sound good, and he throws his bow to the grass in frustration.

It’s been like this for days, and Hinata doesn’t know why. Last time he put down his violin, when he shoved the old one under his bed for a few weeks and didn’t even think of playing again, he still felt the music. He remembers how it pushed at his skin and tried to force itself out of him, like a giant tidal wave contained in a puddle. Now, though, Hinata is barren. He can’t feel anything, and even listening to some of his favorite compositions and songs proves fruitless. Inside his head, there is no melody, no music that plays, nothing dangling in front of him for him to reach and pull into himself. There is no inspiration, no creativity, nothing he has that can make him play again, and he refuses to believe Kageyama has anything to do with it.

That’s where it all leads to, anyways. Kageyama is the one that makes him- _made_ him- feel alive, more connected to music than ever. He took every doubt Hinata had in his playing and eliminated it, let him roam free in his playing but also pulled him back in when needed. Kageyama did all that, so it shouldn’t surprise Hinata that being away from him means that Kageyama took his melody away from him, too.

He has one week. One week until he is walking into the audition room with a new piano player, a childhood friend he found through an extensive search on facebook and the eventual bribery using two week's worth of allowance. Yeah, it might've been easier to text Kageyama and apologize- or force _him_ to apologize- but Hinata didn't want to because with Kageyama not contacting him or even trying to talk to him at school, it seems like he’s happy with the ways things turned out.

Yeah, Hinata would much rather save himself the hurt. 

\---

Two days before, Kageyama can’t sleep. 

Only one day, now. His phone is too bright and the numbers displayed are the early hours of the morning: four o’clock, when it’s too late for people to be up and too early for people to be waking up. Outside, he can’t hear everything, and it feels like he’s the only one alive.

His fingers itch to play, but Kageyama forces the urge down. He doesn’t want to play because playing reminds him of Hinata, and thinking of Hinata makes his eyes burn and his throat close up. He hates Hinata.

(Not really. What he feels is far from hatred, but he can pretend.)

So he rolls out of bed and gets a jacket on his way out the door. He doesn’t really know where he’s going, or at least he hasn’t made any conscious decision, because his brain is still half asleep, a melody pushing through him, so soft that he thinks he might be actually humming it. Only when he sees the sunflowers, their petals drooping as they face the ground, weeping the absence of the sun, does he realize where he is.

He walks into the music shop through the back like he always did. It’s cold, and he knows he stored a blanket inside the piano bench, so he walks straight to the back room and fishes it out, wrapping it around his shoulders and rubbing some feeling into his hands. His hands hover over the keys, touching but not pressing, and slowly, with a little breath, he pushes out [the melody](https://soundcloud.com/sylmalcorps/olafur-arnalds-this-place-is-a?in=user-225515429/sets/satin-robes-and-red-wine) that has been fighting its way out of him ever since Hinata walked out his front door.

He closes his eyes and lets the notes take him. It’s much like how he used to play before Hinata, when he couldn’t contain himself through structure and the pressure to fit with someone else. Maybe it was the pressure that made him snap, the way he wanted to be so good, so perfect for Hinata, wanted to make him know that he only needed Kageyama, no one else. He should have stepped back, should have never played with Hinata in the first place because there’s something wrong with him, something that makes people want to leave and he still doesn’t know why. 

Still, despite knowing Hinata will probably never forgive him, or at least not easily, he desperately wishes for him to be here. He pulls back his melody, and in his head, he heard another melody rise, soft and gentle, picking his own up from where he set it down and exploring new heights. His eyes are closed and he’s just playing and he _swears_ he can picture perfectly the way Hinata would sound, perfect and beautiful as always.

And then Kageyama stops breathing, because there’s a noise behind him, a note that whispers into his ear and he can’t even look back, because it isn’t true, there’s no way that he’s here, that he’s actually here and playing with him because Kageyama is impossible to play with, impossible to stay with.

"Keep going, stupid," Hinata whispers, but it feels like a yell because it's so quiet, and Kageyama didn't even realize he stopped playing. Kageyama doesn't speak, just stares like the idiot he is, until Hinata is sighing and just looking at him and says, a little louder this time, "C'mon, Kageyama, one more time."

Everything in his head screams that he shouldn't, but his heart is racing, and so he turns back around, and he plays again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. guys. i am so ready to end this. Last chapter hasn't even been written yet since I scrapped the entire thing but imma binge write to get it out asap. 
> 
> I am going to continue writing for this au though. I already have a million little ideas for oneshots, and they'll all be a part of a series that I will soon create. Thank you so much for all your music suggestions, and if no one noticed, I made a soundcloud playlist for this [right here](https://soundcloud.com/user-225515429/sets/satin-robes-and-red-wine).


	5. whole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I still hate you,” Hinata says out loud. He pushes his face against Kageyama’s shoulder and breathes in.
> 
> “That’s okay,” Kageyama says. “I wasn’t a good partner.” _Or friend, or whatever we are,_ he doesn’t say. What he says instead is, “I’m sorry.”
> 
> Hinata closes his eyes and opens them again, presses his ear right against Kageyama’s collarbone, and softly, barely there, he can hear his heartbeat. It’s quick, too fast and completely unlike the song they just played. Hinata smiles and sits up properly and finally says, “I missed you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big apology for the unannounced pause I put on this but life just really wasn't going my way.
> 
> im saving my long note for the end, but will take the time to thank those who are even bothering to read this. It's been a really wild journey, and the comments I get almost always drive me to tears because you are all so nice. I love you guys so much!!
> 
> More at end (pls read; it's about continuing this kinda I just wanna let ya'll read the ending and get all the feels out before I even discuss the possible sequel)

The thing that pushes Hinata to walk to the music shop is the way his heart starts to sink when he picks up his violin.

He doesn’t know why, but it’s a heaviness that anchors him where he stands and he doesn’t even think he can breathe because it seems to push into his lungs, wheezing out all that's left. He’s barefoot, in thin pajamas that do nothing to stop the cold wind that blows softly through his hair, tickling his ears and making the tip of his nose start to go numb. It’s the same despair he felt after his last audition, and it makes him want to throw his violin to the ground and snap his bow in half, fills him with anger and frustration that he’s running off before he can stop himself. He shivers as he sprints down the road, toes numb on the frozen concrete, and he doesn’t even know where he’s going, but he has to start _somewhere_ , find a place that brings him inspiration, find somewhere that he can get to fast before he loses everything.

And then it hits him because he sees the sunflowers, petals drooping like they’re mourning the sun, and he’s here, the place where it all started, really. The music shop was what brought music back to him the first time, and if it did it then, it can sure as hell do it again.

(He remembers in the back of his head that Kageyama had a lot to do with what brought him back to music, being that he met him in the shop, too, but he shoves it down and forces himself to push past the flowers. He won’t think of him. _He won’t_.)

With chattering teeth, he pushes the door open and closes his eyes. The shop is the same, and Hinata has been here a few times over the past few months, usually just to tune the instruments as always, so it hasn’t changed. The old man who owns it must’ve left the hallway light on, though, and Hinata rubs his hands together as he walks down the hall, not even feeling the floor beneath his bare feet, and then he stops because he hears something.

For a second, he thinks it’s worked, because he hears _music_ , and he smiles and hugs his violin to his chest, because he’s found it again, and then he stops and his smile falls because that isn’t in his head, it’s real, actual music that someone is playing in the backroom.

In his head, he knows it’s Kageyama, because who else could it be? He knows it’s him, and he hates how his heart jumps at the thought of seeing him again, hates how he stumbles forward and presses his ear against the door and holds his breath, listening to him play.

It’s just simple chords. Hinata can hear him pressing the pedal as he plays, the soft creak as the notes suspend in the air. He’s making it up. Hinata can tell because he feels something stir up inside his head as Kageyama plays a simple melody, and he’s pushing the door open without realizing it, raising his violin to his neck because he _knows_.

He plays and Kageyama falters, presses only one note, but Hinata persists, and Kageyama joins in, playing and playing and _playing_ , like he always has. Hinata pulls notes out of him, and Kageyama draws him in the way he always has, with notes so gentle Hinata can feel the music in the air, making a chill run down his back. He thinks everything’s been building up, all held up inside and waiting to be taken, waiting for someone to come to him and grab it and take it away, and Kageyama’s doing just that.

He stops when Hinata stops. His hand is shaking so bad he can’t move is bow against the strings without having it squeak, and Kageyama looks him over and frowns.

“You’re shivering,” is the first thing he says, and he gets up so fast that the piano bench scratches loud against the floor. Hinata shakes his head and tries to stop trembling but he can't, he doesn’t feel his feet and lips chapped and his face is still numb and probably red.

“I w-walked,” he eventually manages to say past his chattering teeth. Kageyama blinks and shakes his head, pulling the blanket that’s around his shoulders off of him and walking towards Hinata. Hinata takes a step back without meaning to, and the look of hurt that flashes across Kageyama’s face is unbearable, makes him feel even more miserable than he already is, so he forces himself to stumble forward on numb feet until his head bumps into Kageyama’s shoulder. “Blanket,” he demands.

Slowly, Kageyama wraps the blanket around Hinata and himself, arms resting on Hinata’s back, and if he weren’t trembling so bad, Hinata thinks he would have wrapped his arms around Kageyama, too. 

They stay like that for a while, until Hinata walks forward a little and Kageyama steps back, the backs of his knees hitting the edge of the bench. He sits down, and Hinata leaves the blanket to sit next to him before pulling it around himself again. Kageyama is warm, and his teeth have stopped chattering, but Hinata still hates him, even if his heart is racing as Kageyama’s hand wraps around his shoulders to pull the blanket around him more.

“I still hate you,” Hinata says out loud. He pushes his face against Kageyama’s shoulder and breathes in.

“That’s okay,” Kageyama says. “I wasn’t a good partner.” _Or friend, or whatever we are,_ he doesn’t say. What he says instead is, “I’m sorry.”

Hinata closes his eyes and opens them again, presses his ear right against Kageyama’s collarbone, and softly, barely there, he can hear his heartbeat. It’s quick, too fast and completely unlike the song they just played. Hinata smiles and sits up properly and finally says, “I missed you.”

Kageyama swears his heart stops, or maybe it beats so fast he can't really feel it pounding against his chest anymore. All he knows is he doesn't really know what to say, doesn't really know what to do. He wants to say he missed Hinata too, but somehow, it feels like it was more than that. It was the same feeling Kageyama felt when he thought too hard about the absence of his mother, the fact that he had something so great that was taken away, the feeling of having something stolen from him, and when something's gone, you appreciate it a hell of a lot more when you get it back.

Right now, Kageyama has Hinata back, and it’s like his thoughts are finally piecing themselves together. There are a million things he wants to say, but none of the words seem good enough, and Kageyama feels a pain of jealousy that Hinata can just speak his feelings to freely. It’s like everything he feels is building up behind this wall, and he can’t _take_ playing. Not an angry song, but slow, chords that just fit right. He feels a little better, as he plays, and after a minute, Hinata leans his head on Kageyama’s shoulder, watching his finger gently press the keys.

“I like you,” Kageyama says,l between anchors break, sound suspended and blending with his words. It doesn’t sound right, doesn’t really mean what he wants it to mean, so he keeps going, keeps pressing on the keys like his life depends on it. “A lot, I mean.”

Hinata doesn’t say anything, just stares down at the piano keys, watching him play a song that’s too sad, too soft and too small for what he feels. In his head, Kageyama hears an orchestra. He hears millions of sounds buzzing behind his ears, a symphony that will never happen, something that will just be played by him and him alone, and Kageyama feels horrible. Maybe he should have just kept his mouth shut, never spoke and he wouldn’t be wishing he could drop dead right here, right now, stop playing and leave-

“What do you mean?” Hinata asks.

Kageyama swallows, and his fingers halter between chords. He doesn’t know what he means, he just feels it, the one thing that stays far after Hinata has left, the thoughts that make him smile stupidly into his pillow. He presses on the last chord, and everything inside him is gone, and his body feels carved out, completely light and free of everything and he says, “It’s just there, something constant, and it makes me feel so _stupid_ , and I feel like-.” He leans over and kisses Hinata before he's really figured out the rest of his sentence. The only thing he really thinks of is that Hinata’s lips are soft and a little wet, and his are chapped and cracked from how he bites them when he’s nervous. He pulls away after a second, and his heart is pounding, but now it’s because he’s afraid. “Like that,” he eventually says. ‘I like you like that.”

Hinata just blinks and nods, and then he buries his face in Kageyama’s shoulder, and Kageyama is trembling when Hinata kisses the skin where his shoulder meets his neck, soft and slow.

“It’s okay,” he says, and Kageyama closes his eyes when Hinata entangles his fingers with his own. “Me too, I think.”

He doesn’t know how long they stay there, but soon it’s colder and the blanket doesn’t offer much protection. Kageyama thinks Hinata is sleeping, because his fingers are loose and relaxed and his breathing is long and slow, and he makes the same little snoring sounds he made when he napped before the concert. Kageyama shakes his shoulder, jostling Hinata’s head in the process.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” Kageyama says. Hinata shakes his head.

“Nuh uh, let me stay with you.”

“I need to take you home. Your mom will worry.” At the mention of his mom, Hinata groans. He pushes his face closer, stretches up until his nose presses against Kageyama’s cheek, and he kisses his jaw.

In his ear, Hinata whispers, “no.” Then, he licks Kageyama’s cheek and snorts.

Kageyama groans and pushes him away, standing up and taking the blanket with him. Hinata whines and Kageyama throws it on his face, grabbing his arm to pull him up and only feeling resistance. He only gets Hinata up by promising to let him stay the night at his house. He sees Hinata’s feet, bare and pale, small toes wet and wiggling at Hinata laughs.

“You didn’t wear shoes? Are you an idiot?” Kageyama grabs his sweatshirt and pushes it over Hinata head, helping get his head through and ruffling his hair once it’s on. “You know,” Kageyama says, “You can lose a toe if it’s frozen. It turns blue and just pops off.”

“That’s not true,” Hinata grumbles. 

Kageyama shrugs and says, “When all your toes are gone, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” 

When they’re outside, Hinata grabs Kageyama’s arm, hand slipping into the small space between Kageyama’s elbow and hip. Kageyama can only see him through the single streetlight that stands a little distance away that casts weird shadows on the street. Hinata is on the balls of his feet, probably because it’s cold, and the sidewalk must be frozen, and once they reach the streetlight, Kageyama looks at him and stops, and Hinata pauses next to him, shifting his weight from foot to foot. Kageyama doesn’t speak, doesn't even breathe, and in the silence, he can hear how Hinata’s teeth are starting to chatter again. Wordlessly, he crouches down a little and looks over his shoulder at Hinata.

“Get on my back,” he says. Hinata holds his violin case in one hand and looks at it, and Kageyama grabs it from him.

“Careful with it!” 

“I am being careful. Now hop on,” Kageyama demands. He hears Hinata come up from behind him. Arms wrap around Kageyama’s neck, and he braces himself so that when Hinata jumps up, he doesn’t lose his balance and topple over. Hinata presses his knees tight against Kageyama’s side when he stands up straight all the way, and Kageyama sighs. “You’re heavier than you look.”

“Bakageyama! You don’t just say that to someone you're carrying!” Hinata slaps Kageyama’s shoulder, and Kageyama snorts. He walks down the road, trying to ignore the way Hinata’s toes curl into his sides, how he leans his check into the crook of Kageyama’s neck, so close his lips brush against his skin with every step.

“Why?” He asks.

“Why what?”

“Why do you like me?” Kageyama freezes, but then Hinata tightens his arms around his neck, resting his cheek on his shoulder in a silent urge to keep going, and so Kageyama continues walking.

“I don't know, I just do,” he eventually says. Hinata must not think the answer is sufficient enough because he can feel him frowning through how his arms relax, how he slumps over Kageyama’s back. “I mean, I always admired the way you played.”

“So you just like every violin player?”

“No, idiot. The fact that you play good is a bonus, I guess.” Kageyama stops to adjust Hinata on his back and then turns the corner in the direction of his house. “It's not _just_ you playing, it's what you do when you play. You don't get it because you don't experience it. It's like everything in me just wants to jump out, like you just pull everything out of me, but in a good way.”

Kageyama realizes how stupid he sounds only after the words leave his mouth, and he pinches the back of Hinata’s thigh when he laughs, nose pressing into his neck.

“I get it,” Hinata says after he catches his breath. It puffs out in clouds that dissipate over Kageyama’s shoulder. Kageyama can see the light on his front porch barely a few yards away, and he keeps walking. In his ear, Hinata whispers, “I feel the same exact way.”

\---

Kageyama throws his comforter on the floor to straighten out the sheets on his bed, and immediately, Hinata jumps on top of it. This is where Kageyama would drag it out from under him, hide a smile when Hinata keeps holding on, pull hard until his arms are tired, and then he’d fall on his butt on the floor and let Hinata crawl over to him and pull out his folder, full of horribly written notes and shove it in Kageyama’s face to check.

Now, Kageyama is already tired, and Hinata has already cocooned himself in the big blanket on the floor, so Kageyama just falls back on his mattress. He pulls his pillow from under his head and throws it over, where he thinks it lands somewhere near or on Hinata’s face, because of how he gasps and groans. There’s shuffling, and Kageyama closes his eyes. He’s too tired to think of the cold, too exhausted from carrying Hinata home, and his brain is numb from the constant reminder that he told Hinata how he felt, and Hinata said he felt the same way.

 _He thinks he does_ , Kageyama reminds himself. _He said he thinks he does._

He’s relaxing in his bed, closing his eyes and starting to breathe heavy when he remembers, and he shoots out of bed and reaches down for Hinata blindly and accidently strikes him across the face.

“Ow! Bakageyama, what was that for?!” 

“Tomorrow,” Kageyama wheezes, sitting up. “Tomorrow we have the audition- _Hinata_.”

Instantly, Hinata scrambles to his feet. He shoves Kageyama back on the bed, pushing him down until his back dips into the mattress, and then Hinata hovers over him.

“It’s fine. We have played together for months. _Months_ , Kageyama. A little week won’t change all the work we did.” He rolls over and lays beside Kageyama. They’re cramped together, a lump that’s too big for a bed that’s too small. Hinata’s back is pressed against the wall, and his leg slips between Kageyama’s, heel of a sock-clad foot brushing against the back of his calve. “We will go in, and we will play. We will perform.”

“I still don’t know my solo piece,” Kageyama says.

“You’ll figure it out. Play something you wrote.”

“I can’t just _do_ that,” Kageyama insists. Hinata reaches forward and pokes his finger into Kageyama’s cheek, and Kageyama twists his head to bite at it. Hinata pulls away with a grin.

“You can,” he says, and he scoots forward, forehead bumping into Kageyama’s own. Lips press against his own, chaste and soft and leaving as soon as they were there. “I know you can.”

Kageyama wants to say something back, like how he knows Hinata can do it, too, but the words just stick to the inside of his throat. So he just turns his pushes his hand in between them, curled open, and Hinata grabs it, fingers rubbing against Kageyama’s knuckles.

“You can play what you played at my sister’s concert, that was good. Or just make something up, if you want.” Hinata shrugs and shifts up so he shares Kageyama’s pillow with him, and then nudges him with his other foot. “Get the blanket, I’m still freezing.”

Kageyama reaches over and pulls the comforter off of the floor, using the hand that Hinata isn’t still holding. He attempts to cover them both, but he ends up almost suffocating Hinata in the process (Hinata: “You can’t pull the covers all the way up to _your_ shoulders, idiot! They just cover my head!”). They eventually settle down, though, and Hinata falls asleep quickly like he always does, and Kageyama watches it happen.

It’s a strange thing, really, to watch someone slowly drift to sleep. One second they’re whispering and moving and then their motions are slow, sluggish and laggy like they’re moving through water. Hinata smiles and presses his lips together, and his eyes have been closed for a while, but they somehow drop even more. Kageyama knows Hinata is asleep when his lips part and he stops gripping Kageyama’s hand tightly. Kageyama knows he could pull away, go sleep on the couch or on the floor or at least remove his hand (it’s getting hot and sweaty and gross), but he doesn’t want to. He also knows he should try to sleep before Hinata starts snoring, or wheezing, or whatever the weird breathing sound he makes is called, but then he figures he wouldn’t really mind staying up for a while and watching Hinata for a little while longer.

He realizes how creepy that is, and shuts his eyes, but he still stays awake.

\---

He must fall asleep at some point because he finds his eyes opening to light that floods through his window. He forgot to close the blinds last night, too busy being stuck in a haze that Hinata put him in, and now he’s paying the price, glaring straight into the sun that is rising above the roofs of his neighborhood. He feels weird, and when he looks over and sees Hinata, he snaps awake. Guilty, is what he feels, horrible and he doesn’t know why. He remembers telling Hinata that he _liked_ him, remembers Hinata saying maybe, maybe he felt the same way.

(Maybe. That word just sits on Kageyama’s tongue, heavy like a rock, and he swallows and feels the heaviness move down until it’s like he can’t breathe anymore. Maybe.)

Beside him, Hinata groans, and Kageyama feels something wet smear against his arm, and Kageyama looks over just in time to see a little drool push its way past the corner of Hinata’s lips and onto his arm.

“Dumbass!” Kageyama yells, but it’s a whisper-yell because he doesn't want to wake up his dad or Nao.

Hinata jumps and whines immediately from being woken up, shoving his head under the pillow and hooking his ankles around one of Kageyama’s legs, trapping him.

“Hinata,” Kageyama warns. “We missed one week. That’s seven days we can never get back, so let’s _go_.”

Hinata groans, peeks under the pillow and pouts and then slowly, he pulls Kageyama’s leg closer, smiles and shoves his face back under the pillow and mumbles, “Five more minutes.”

Kageyama groans, pushing his head deeper into his mattress and then, after Hinata’s grip has loosened and his breathing starts to slow, he scrambles up and pulls Hinata off of the bed.

“ _Now_ , stupid. I'm not letting your exhaustion get in the way of us making it into the orchestra.”

He pulls Hinata downstairs, where he grabs Hinata’s violin from where they left it by the front door and the. Shoves him into the nursery. Hinata is yawning into his hand and rubbing his eyes with the other, wiping away the pricks of tears that form as he yawns. Right away, Kageyama moves sheet music aside and tries to find the audition piece they’re supposed to do together, but then he gives up because he doesn’t really need the music anyways. 

“Hinata, how are you doing with sight reading?” He asks.

“I’m okay. I practiced during that week, don’t worry. I even used the little practice sheets they put on their website? I think I’ll do fine,” Hinata croaks. He does a few scales on his violin, clenches and unclenches his fingers and then positions his instrument and looks at Kageyama and asks, “Are you ready?”

Kageyama thinks. His entire life, he’s been playing the piano, and he’s been playing mostly alone. He thinks about last year, how messed up he got, how messed up he still is, and yeah, he needs to fix it, he needs to work on the way rage sometimes just glues itself to his skin and doesn’t leave until he sheds it, but he’s still _better_. Maybe Hinata made him better, or maybe his last audition snapped some sense into him, but whatever it was, Kageyama is okay, getting more okay as he stares at Hinata, who is now sticking out his tongue and stomping his foot and whining, _why are you staring? You’re wasting time!_

Kageyama doesn’t think he’s all that ready, but he thinks he’s getting there.

“Yeah, as ready as I can be,” he finally answers. And it’s the truth.

They’re playing and practicing, pointing out each other's flaws and asking each other to change things, and it’s good, healthy, the right way musicians work together. Hinata’s stomach starts to growl, loudly enough that he fumbles with his notes and messes up, but Kageyama doesn’t yell, or scream, or get mad. He just stands up and takes the violin out of Hinata’s hands and then walks with him to the kitchen. Nao’s there and Kageyama knows there’s no point sneaking past her. They need a ride to the audition, anyway.

“Good morning,” Kageyama says. She turns around and sees Hinata first, her tired frown growing into a smile as she looks back and forth between them and raises her eyebrows at Kageyama, whose frown just turns even bigger. “Stop.”

“Hinata! I didn’t know you were over! And so early, too,” she says. Hinata is oblivious to the way Nao stares at him with excitement, probably because that’s all she did when Kageyama had him over in the first place; he’s used to it. Hinata’s stomach rumbles again, and she laughs and turns around and starts digging into the cupboards above her head. “Hungry? You two wanna help me make pancakes?”

“No, I’ll just eat an apple. Kageyama and I have to practice a lot-”

“Sure,” Kageyama interrupts. Hinata looks at him and he shrugs, tries to ignore how Hinata being this close makes his heart speed up and makes him think of Hinata’s lips and his hands around his neck and how he didn’t weigh as much as Kageyama said he did, he was warm and felt good against Kageyama’s back. “We need a good breakfast to perform well. It’s the most important meal of the day. It makes you smarter.”

“I never eat breakfast.”

“Exactly. That’s why you’re so stupid.”

“Hey!”

“Kageyama, come here and add all the dry ingredients. Hinata, you can help me get all the wet ingredients from the fridge. I can’t reach all the way in the back to grab the eggs,” Nao interrupts. Hinata walks to the fridge and looks over his shoulder to stick his tongue out at Kageyama.

They get a pretty good system going. Nao reads the directions off of a website and Kageyama pours the right measurements into a cup, while Hinata basically reaches his whole arm into the fridge to get the eggs that somehow got cramped in the back of the fridge, stuck behind leftovers and three pints of milk.

(Hinata asks why they have so much milk, and Nao just looks over at Kageyama, who just shrugs and says, “You’d understand if you were tall.”)

Hinata adds the eggs. He is arm is bright red and trembling from reaching into the fridge for five minutes, and when he cracks the first one, he does it too strongly and the shell explodes everywhere, yolk dropping from between his clenched fingers as he smiles meekly at Kageyama and says, “Oops?”

By the time the batter is ready, there are bits of everything everywhere, and it’s been all too long. Nao washes her hands, and Hinata follows, while Kageyama pours the batter into the pan and waits, watching.

“So, are you boys going to need a ride to the audition center?” Nao asks. Kageyama freezes. He hadn’t even _told_ Nao that’s why he and Hinata hung out all the time. She senses his shock and laughs through her explanation. “Hinata left the information packet on the kitchen table, once. Your father brought it to me and asked if I wanted to give it to you, Kageyama.”

Kageyama looks at Hinata, who mouths _sorry_ while he dries his hands on his shirt.

“Yeah, we need a ride,” Kageyama manages to say, and Nao smiles.

“Well, what time did you sign up for?”

And that’s when Kageyama frowns because he can’t remember going online and finding an audition slot. He can’t remember signing an agreement form and checking all the little boxes on the website, can’t remember listing Hinata as his audition partner.

“Fuck.”

\---

They crowd around the computer. Kageyama clicks furiously, and Hinata hangs off of him, pointing to links and looking over Kageyama’s shoulder until he finally gets to the audition times. Almost all of the slots are taken, and the only one available is the first one, the very first appointment for a time that’s not too far away, only three hours at most.

He picks it. Hinata groans and tells him to look another option, but Kageyama knows they don’t have time. He types in his name and Hinata’s underneath, naming Nao as their guardian and having her fill out an extensive form about possible touring times and availability if they get in. It takes twenty minutes, and then Kageyama sees a giant green check beside that slot and Hinata’s name right next to his, and he sighs.

They have to leave soon. Signing in takes an hour in itself, and they get practice rooms and can even ask to meet with people who were in the orchestra last year for tips and advice, so Hinata texts his mom a lengthy apology and says he’s over Kageyama’s house and will be home in time for dinner. He shuts his phone off when she calls, and stuffs it in his pocket and offers Kageyama a smile.

“If we get in, she won’t ground me. If we don’t, she’s gonna kill me, and I’m taking you with me, Kageyama,” he says. Nao calls them to the kitchen, and Kageyama gets up, turns to leave when Hinata grabs his hand and pulls him back.

He’s kissing Hinata before he really realizes it. Hinata is on his tiptoes and pulling Kageyama down with his hand cupped around the back of his neck and his lips are moving against his own, just barely. It feels good, nice and too familiar for what he thinks is the third or fourth time they're doing this. Then Kageyama’s crowding closer, close enough that he can feel the little sound of surprise that leaves Hinata’s mouth, can feel his lips part a little and the sound makes his lips tingle. He pulls away because his heart is beating too fast and Nao is calling them again, telling them to hurry up and eat so they’re not late. Hinata grins.

“I was waiting for a good morning kiss for a while,” he admits. Kageyama just nods. “And I guess it’s a good luck kiss, too. Or a thank you... for finding us an audition slot. Could be all three,” Hinata babbles. Kageyama nods again and feels stupid, so damn stupid, but he can’t get his tongue to move, can't get his lips to work right, not after a kiss like _that_. Hinata just nods back and then sighs and wipes his hands on his pants. “Well then,” he starts, but he doesn’t finish his sentence, just smiles and nudges his way past Kageyama to the kitchen.

Kageyama stays there until Nao is dragging him to the table, where he sits next to Hinata, who is already on his second pancake, drizzling syrup all over until his plate is flooded with it. He doesn’t mention the kiss, and Kageyama still can’t use his words, can’t even open his mouth to eat because his lips are still tingling. He still forces down food, but he doesn’t taste it.

He finally gets his mouth to work when they’re outside, waiting for Nao to get the keys out of her coat, and Hinata is shivering beside him. He’s wearing mostly Kageyama’s clothes, rolled up jeans that stopped fitting Kageyama his second year of junior high, and a collared shirt that is a little long, but you can’t tell because it’s tucked in. He’s even wearing a pair of old shoes Kageyama still had, but they’re still too big, and he stumbles when he walks in them. Kageyama stares at Hinata, and Hinata stops bouncing up and down and just watches while Kageyama reaches forward and zips up his jacket for him, takes his bare hands in his own gloved ones and rubs gently to create heat.

“If your fingers fall off, we won’t be able to play,” Kageyama mumbles. He looks up at Hinata, who just grins so wide it looks like it hurts, and it probably does, with how cold it is. Still, he rubs Hinata’s hands between his own, and it’s almost like it’s a little warmer out.

\---

The Center for Cultural Arts in Miyagi is huge.

Nothing compared to the one in Tokyo, but that in itself is a whole other world. Hinata remembers visiting the one in Tokyo when he was little for a school trip (this was when he was still trying the trumpet, and it's where he got taught by a band director there, a lesson that is now useless), remembers staring at it in awe, soaking in all the big windows and the huge dome roof that reflected the sun. The one in Miyagi, in comparison, is much less glamourous, but Hinata remembers their theater, the beautiful stage, and lights, the way the room was constructed so the sound bounced off the walls, making every part heard everywhere. He knows Kageyama has never tried out before, so he leads them in.

He sees some familiar staff faces while they wait in line and a few kids who talked to him last year. There seem to be hundreds of kids here, and it’s obvious who is a veteran when it comes to being in the orchestra. They stand tall, calm and silent and they stare at the younger kids, the ones who shake where they stand and chatter nervously. One girl, who looks to be a third-year, watches Hinata and Kageyama, not blinking and just letting her gaze sink in like needles on Hinata’s skin. Hinata expects her to grimace like all the other older kids do when they look at the new kids, but she just smiles, and then turns to her friend and continues the conversation. She holds a pair of mallets, ones that people use to play the marimba, and Hinata thinks he recognizes her from the orchestra's winter performance last year when he watched it on the live stream online. Kageyama elbows him in the side and glares at him.

“Don’t stare, idiot. She probably thinks you’re a creep.”

“Shut up!”

They wait in line for what seems like hours. Hinata whines, says he needs to wash his hands still sticky from the syrup, that he’s thirsty, that his feet hurt from standing up for too long and every time he does, Kageyama pinches him or tells him to shut up, so Hinata stops after he’s sure his side is bruised. He watches Kageyama, instead, stares as he bites his lip (he’s kissed those lips, he’s felt them against his own, oh god Hinata has _kissed_ them), teeth scraping against pale pink flesh and making them swollen and flushes red. The line moves, and Kageyama moves with it, and Hinata has to gulp down past the anxious lump in his throat and crowd a bit closer to Kageyama, because it's crowded, not because he wants to be closer to him, or anything like that.

Okay, he does. Kageyama must know he does because he takes his hand out of his pocket and Hinata feels it brush against his elbow, and when he looks up, Kageyama just pushes his lips together and shrugs and looks away. Hinata still smiles and then turns to Nao and talks to her, and after that, time passes by quickly. 

When they finally get to the front, the man who signs them in is the same man that walked Hinata out last year, and Hinata holds his breath when he sees him because he doesn’t want to be remembered, not for last year, not when he’s so much more now. Still, the man smiles at him and hums in acknowledgment, brushing skinny fingers through his thin white hair, and he looks at Kageyama.

“Ah, I see you’ve come back. With someone as skilled as you, I would hope?” He writes Hinata’s name on a little name tag and then looks at the list to write Kageyama’s. Hinata sticks it on his chest, and Kageyama just stares at it like he has no idea what to do with it, too busy looking at the old man and at Hinata, trying to understand the connection. Nao is talking to some woman, asking questions and smiling, so Hinata just grabs it from his hands and slaps it on Kageyama’s chest, hard.

“Ow!” Kageyama says between clenched teeth. Hinata smiles.

“Alright, boys, you have practice room 3-A, and I will escort you both to the audition room when they're ready to hear you.”

They’re led past the lines that curve around tables and crowd the hallways. Since they’re one of the first audition blocks, they’re led past the waiting area, full of kids who came here earlier. There’s not really a point because you’re only allowed to get a practice room one hour before the audition time you signed up for, but Hinata assumes they didn’t know or thought they could somehow cheat the system. 

The room they are given is similar to the one Hinata had last time. It’s really a small closet-like space attached to the main area, with a few other smaller rooms just like the one they’re in. He can see through the glass door, and the old man waves before he shuts it, making the room very quiet.

“This must be soundproof,” Kageyama says. Hinata turns to him, watches him run his fingers along the weird wall, with its tiny holes in it. He presses his ear against the wall and speaks. “Yeah, definitely soundproof. This place has no echo.”

Hinata sets his violin up and sits down on a chair that's crammed into the corner of the room. The piano in the room is a Spinet, small and probably the only piano that would fit in the room, and Kageyama presses down on a few keys, listening.

“Do you know what song you’re going to audition with?” Kageyama asks. Hinata shrugs.

“Maybe something we’re doing in class. You know to solo Asahi has? On his viola? I was thinking I’d just bring it down an octave. What about you?”

Kageyama sighs and shakes his head and mumbles, “Let’s just go through the audition piece and I’ll think later.”

They practice until Hinata can’t move his fingers anymore. His back is sore from sitting up straight for so long, and the calluses on his fingers pulse. It’s strange, how intense he forgot Kageyama was in just one week. One week of lost time and now they’re back, and Hinata would be lying if he said he was tired because he’s not. Tired, that is. He’s beyond happy to be playing with Kageyama because it just makes him feel so good- like he finally has found someone who understands and reads what he plays. 

They finish the audition piece and then Kageyama starts messing around with chords and melodies on the fly, and Hinata joins in. They speed up, slow down, compete with each other and try to make the other mess up (Hinata slips up only twice, and Kageyama’s fingers slide off the keys wrong when Hinata points out that their scores are tied- _now_ he’s winning).

He looks at Kageyama only to find he’s already staring at him. It takes his breath away, makes him slip up on his playing (tied again), fingers slipping down too far and playing something that sounds too sharp, so he stops playing, and Kageyama stops, too; a silent agreement that maybe stopping on a draw is okay. Hinata stands up and walks to him, sitting beside him on the piano bench and resting his head on Kageyama’s shoulder, just like the night before, when he was so cold and Kageyama was so warm and he just needed his music back, needed that feeling of belonging back. Now, Kageyama’s arm wraps around him without hesitation, draped around his shoulders where he pinches Hinata’s neck, something that makes Hinata’s ears fuzz and his face heat up from trying to hide the smile that’s attempting to stretch across his face.

“Do you think we’ll make it?” Hinata asks. He feels Kageyama’s shrug.

“I’d say we have a good chance. I’m just worried about the sight-reading.”

“Why? You sight-read everything in class-”

“For you, Hinata,” Kageyama says.

“Oh.” Kageyama sighs, and Hinata looks straight ahead, staring at the sheet music that Kageyama has laid out on the piano, stacked neatly. He doesn’t even _need_ it, usually just lays out the music on the piano stand for the whole aesthetic of it, or to help him keep his spot when they’re playing particularly long orchestral pieces. Hinata tries to read the first line, only paying attention to the top notes of the chords, and he knows it, kind of. But then he looks up at the melody, all these circles with lines connecting them, and Hinata is lost. It’s just a bunch of noise, a bunch of notes that he’s blanking on. He groans and pushes his face into Kageyama’s neck, feels a hand reach up and awkwardly pat his hair, and then Hinata sits up and says, “You’re making me nervous, now.”

“Sorry,” Kageyama says instantly. He reaches forward and plays a little tune on the piano, something oddly familiar and childish. “I’ll be right outside the door, Hinata. I know that I’m supposed to go to another room where they can hear me by myself, but I’ll be right there in the hall until you’re done,” he promises. Hinata smiles and Kageyama refuses to look at him.

“Kageyama-kun, you’re being so nice,” Hinata teases. Kageyama pushes him away.

“No, I’m not. Shut up.”

“Yes, you are. You’re totally being nice and it’s because you like me so much.”

“Idiot! Forget it, I’m leaving as soon as they tell me to,” Kageyama mumbles. Hinata laughs and snorts, something that only makes him laugh harder, and in the corner of his eyes, he can see Kageyama trying to fight off a smile, too. There’s a blush that’s creeping up to the tips of his ears and before Hinata can contain himself, he’s leaning forward, pressing his lips to Kageyama’s cheek and pulling back just as fast, leaning too far backward and losing his balance. He almost falls off the bench, but Kageyama grabs his hand and pulls him forward and crowds his space before he can. He’s close, so, _so_ close, enough that Hinata can feel his breath when he exhales, a soft wind against his lips. He thinks Kageyama’s going to lean forward- if he isn't, then Hinata certainly will- with the way he just stares at him, eyes too wide and curious and making Hinata’s pulse quicken, so much that he knows Kageyama must feel it from where his fingers are wrapped right around his wrist.

There’s a knock.

Kageyama just blinks and sits up straight, turning back to the piano, and Hinata is still leaning back, so Kageyama nods his head in the direction of the door, the all glass door, where the man is waving. Hinata scrambles to his feet and bows, though it's mostly to hide his embarrassment, and Kageyama gets up next to him and pinches his waist so Hinata stands up straight again. The man doesn't notice or chooses not to, or the little chuckle that Hinata thinks he hears must be because he finds them amusing. Whatever the case, he opens the door wide and steps to the side.

“They’re ready to see you both.”

\---

They're getting to the auditorium door, a place Hinata has been before, seen the stage and played on it and was rejected on it when Hinata starts to feel bad.

It's a _bad_ kind of bad. The bad that makes him falter for a second and struggle to breathe, the bad that makes him feel hot and sweaty and makes his knees wobble. It's weird- like there are butterflies with razor wings in his stomach, and it _hurts_ , crawling up his throats until his stomach is churning and he realizes he's pretty sure he’s going to puke.

He drops his violin to the ground (gently, with only a little thud), tears away from Kageyama, and sprints down the hall, pushing open the bathroom door and locking himself in a stall. He hears the door open again not a second later, and he sees Kageyama's shoes right in front of the stall he’s kneeling over in. He winces when he bangs on the door.

“Dumbass, we had an hour for you to go to the bathroom!” He yells. 

“I'm not- I think I'm gonna be sick!” Hinata whines. Kageyama sighs.

“Open the door,” Kageyama demands.

“What? No-”

“Open the door, idiot!” 

Hinata unlocks the door and frowns up at Kageyama when he steps in. He goes back to sulking over the toilet seat, leaning over and clutching his stomach. He thinks he's going to actually throw up, but then Kageyama nudges him with his foot, and Hinata feels his hand in his hair, brushing back strands that fall in front of his face.

“You're just nervous over nothing. Let's go in and get this over with, and you can worry after,” Kageyama murmurs. He holds his hand down, palm open, and Hinata grabs it.

They walk out of the bathroom and Hinata picks up his violin case from the ground. The man is standing still and watching and still smiling. Hinata knows Kageyama thinks he's creepy because he says so, whispered right into Hinata’s ear as he leads them forward again, and it only earns him an elbow to the stomach and Hinata hissing at him to stop being rude.

When they get to the doors, Hinata feels nervous again. He remembers last year, remembers walking in and full of excitement and energy and leaving absolutely devastated. He remembers the cold hard stares when he admitted he could do the sight-reading part of the audition, the disappointing feeling of acceptance when they said that it would be twenty points off his total score, the shock when they asked when his partner would get there.

He remembers how he hates himself, how he almost snapped his violin in half when he got home (he believes he didn't only because it wasn't his, to begin with; it was the girl's, and he couldn't destroy what was not his own). He remembers learning how to tune the instruments by ear in order to help pay off his debt, remembers meeting Kageyama, playing with Kageyama, being with Kageyama.

His defeat led to his redemption.

Hinata looks at Kageyama and thinks that maybe he’s remembering a lot of things, too. He lets him, watches how his eyes flash a bit darker and his eyebrows furrow, fingers clenching and unclenching before he wipes them on his pants. Gently, Hinata nudges him and smiles, and then gently- a touch so soft it's barely there- brushes his knuckles against the back of Kageyama’s hand.

(There's an unspoken conversation that Hinata feels more than understands, a rush of adrenaline that has Kageyama smiling down at him and giving him a solid nod, and Hinata, in all his glory, looks forward.)

Kageyama grabs his hand and squeezes, and the doors open wide.

### EPILOGUE

It’s too hot.

The sun is beating down hard on the street in front of where Hinata sits on Kageyama’s porch, and when he looks hard enough and lets his eyes unfocus, scenery blurring around the edges, he can actually see the way the heat causes the heat waves to leave the concrete. But staring for too long gives him a headache, and he ends up groaning and pushing his head between his knees, blood rushing to his brain and making his temples pulse.

Behind him, the door opens, and something cold runs down the back of his neck and threatens to slip past his shirt. Hinata sits up straight and Kageyama hands him a popsicle that’s still in its wrapper, condensation already forming on the outside of the clear plastic wrap. Hinata opens it and pops it into his mouth, red dribbling down his chin. Kageyama just stares at him with lidded eyes and looks forward, slouching.

“Are you ready for tomorrow?” he asks. Hinata doesn’t answer, too busy switching between licking the melted parts of his popsicle off of his fingers and licking the actual popsicle, so Kageyama keeps taking. “I mean, you should be ready. It’s gonna be a long trip, you know.”

Hinata knows. Two weeks. Fourteen days. Fifteen, if you count the big concert at the end. All of them will be taken up by busy bus rides and lessons with professionals and get to know all the other kids in his string section from other prefecture orchestras. At the end, there's another audition, if you decide to do it, and that's for something bigger than the different prefecture orchestras. It's a chance to be part of the Tokyo Orchestra, where the best players from all the different prefectures go around and play _everywhere_.

Just thinking about it fills him up with excitement. Of course, he’s going to try out- both he and Kageyama both- because what's the point in not even trying? Even if he doesn't get in, he’ll have next year, and the year after that to make it. Still, he wants it this year. He got into the Miyagi orchestra and now he's hungry for more. 

“Yeah! I have my bag packed and everything!” Hinata wipes his sticky hands on his shorts and chews on the popsicle stick now that he’s done. He’s cooler now and his head isn't hurting as much, and everything seems better when Kageyama talks to him.

“Good. My dad is gonna pick you up early so we get there by seven.”

“At night?”

“No. Seven in the morning, dumbass. The tour starts at eight, and we’re gonna have to unpack our things and eat, and then practice some of the pieces they might hand out.”

Hinata groans, but reaches over to pat Kageyama’s hand, watching his face closely when he does. It's always the same- the way he jumps a little, straightens up and breathes in and then looks away. He keeps his hand still, though, and Hinata holds his on top of Kageyama’s, fingers gently tapping against his knuckles. Even though Hinata almost always holds his hand. Even though it's been a little over a month since they last started this.

Whatever _this_ is. Hinata isn't quite sure, but he doesn't care all that much. As long as Kageyama keeps letting him hold his hand, he’s okay. As long as he keeps having those moments where Kageyama will just cut him off by a chaste kiss against his lips (or his cheek or his nose when he misjudged the distance and misses), those nights where they stay up and sit outside to bask in the weather that keeps warming up, Hinata playing in the light of the lantern they carry outside and Kageyama humming his part along.

And now, since they nailed the audition, passed the first phase and the second one after that, it's beginning. Tomorrow, the start of the two-week long retreat that's required of the orchestra, learning music and skills and expertise by the best teachers in Miyagi. All of this, leading up to the concert in Tokyo.

Hinata’s heart speeds up and he squeezes Kageyama’s hand, scoots closer even though it's too hot to be touching, too hot to experience any kind of second-hand body heat.

“Thank you,” he says. Kageyama looks at him and shrugs.

“For what?”

“I don't know. For everything. Just accept my gratitude,” Hinata says. Kageyama nods, looks away and back again and pauses before he presses his lips to Hinata’s forehead, and then pulls away. Hinata is in a daze, still feeling Kageyama's lips- cool and soft from the cold water he was just drinking- against his skin, and it makes Hinata smile a stupid smile. Kageyama mumbles something Hinata can't really make out- it sounds like a stuttered thank you of his own- but he's too busy smiling and staring at Kageyama (at his eyes, at his nose, at his cheeks that are tinted red from sunburn) to pay attention to the jumbled sentences that leave his mouth. 

He kisses him instead, right there on his front porch, because he doesn't really need words to know what Kageyama wants to say. He hears it whenever he plays with him, whenever he feels Kageyama's eyes on him, whenever his hand ruffles his hair as a reward for translating an entire sheet of notes perfectly. It's in the way he shouts and laughs and, on the rare occasion, smiles. It's in everything Kageyama does.

Yeah, he doesn't need to listen, because deep down, Hinata already knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, first I'll start with the stuff I would think people would care about most.
> 
> 1\. Solo Audition piece for [Kageyama](https://soundcloud.com/neet/moon-waltz)  
> Solo Audition piece for [Hinata](https://soundcloud.com/ryan-linardy/from-up-on-poppy-hill-dream) (I listened to this and knew that if the roles were switched, Hinata would def have this playing style on the piano. Imagine this now as a violin piece, and you have Hinata's audition solo (which he nailed, btw))  
> [Paired piece](https://soundcloud.com/traibap/kikis-delivery-service-joe?in=user-225515429/sets/satin-robes-and-red-wine) (first 50 sec. would be what they played)
> 
> 1.5. The playlist for this fic can be found [here.](https://soundcloud.com/user-225515429/sets/satin-robes-and-red-wine)
> 
> 2\. The thank-yous. A hugeeeee thank you to [Hannah](http://hyperhs.tumblr.com) for the [comic](http://hyperhs.tumblr.com/post/147583243822/too-lazy-to-finish-this-farther-kageyama-needs) that inspired this whole mess to begin with. I just remember studying for finals last year and seeing this and just instantly knowing I was going to totally write this. I had like 10k down before I abandoned it, and I believe I saw additions to the comic and just decided... fuck it, i saw her say in a comment that she would love someone to write this, and it was just the kind of project i needed to get my ass out of intense writers block. Sad to say I'm back in that shitty writers block, but hopefully it will be gone soon.
> 
> 3\. As of March 2018, a lot of the music I linked has been removed. I can't find it on any other platform, I'm sorry!
> 
> 4\. while I originally intended to continue this, I haven't exactly been inspired by the haikyuu fandom as of late. Maybe when the new season comes out?? I don't know. I hope what you read was enjoyable, though, and who knows, maybe I will write more?? idk. Anyways, thank you!


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